


and we are not alone, i hear the rocks and stones

by placesinfive



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Claustrophobia, Deaf Character, Divine Pulse Deaths (Fire Emblem), Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, POV Alternating, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sort Of, because Miklan, because ghosts, deaf!annette fantine dominic, divine pulses are not fun aha, neither are relics, no beta we die like Glenn, original characters come in the form of ghosts, since the game does not give me that much info to work with, sylvain and annette are bros, sylvain can see dead people, sylvain is doing great guys what are you talking about, tags will be added and possibly changed as we go, twsitd are also a time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25502833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placesinfive/pseuds/placesinfive
Summary: “I’ll kill him,” Felix says, tiny hands shaking in anger at his sides as he looks at the new bruises forming on Sylvain’s face, his eyes welling with tears. “I’ll kill him, I swear it.”And Sylvain knows that he doesn’t mean this literally, knows that his 8-year old friend isn’tactuallygoing to go attempt to murder his brother in cold blood, but that still doesn’t stop his entire body from turning to ice.“N-no, Felix, you can’t,” he chokes out, his head spinning with panic. “Please don’t do anything,please-it’s just gonna make everything worse.”Or;Sylvain can see dead people. He doesn't particularly like to spread this information.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Christophe & Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Glenn Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Glenn Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 75
Kudos: 182
Collections: Certified Good Shit™, Quality Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title is from hadestown.

Sylvain doesn’t realize there’s anything wrong with him, not at first. It’s gradual, little pieces of a blurry puzzle slotting together throughout his childhood until they form some kind of reachable conclusion.

There’s that kind woman in the gardens that tells him stories whenever he visits her. His father claims he has no idea who he’s talking about whenever he excitedly brings her up, though Sylvain doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t think his father knows the names of any of the workers in their estate.

There’s that group of kids he plays with by the river sometimes. He doesn’t think they like the river very much; they usually either ignore it completely or stop him if he ever gets too close. He wonders why they still play by the river if they seem to be so scared of it, but he doesn’t mind. He stops going to hang out with them after a certain point, and he feels bad, but he can’t really help it. He doesn’t think he likes the river very much anymore either.

There’s the time he finally brings one of his friends he met in town over to his home. Miklan must have been feeling particularly upset that day, because when Sylvain tries to introduce his friend after his brother had stalked over to ask what the hell he was doing, Miklan laughs in his face, calls him pathetic, and walks away. Sylvain can’t find his friend anymore after that.

Then there’s the well. But he doesn’t really like to think about the well.

Maybe a part of him hadn’t been willing to actually accept it, or maybe he’s just a bit of an idiot (this is true regardless), but the realization doesn’t fully hit until he’s 9 years old, watching two of the maids talking at the end of the hallway. One of them is crying over the loss of her mother, which makes him confused, because he can clearly see that her mother is-

Oh.

_Oh._

(“I’ll kill him,” Felix says, tiny hands shaking in anger at his sides as he looks at the new bruises forming on Sylvain’s face, his eyes welling with tears. “I’ll kill him, I swear it.”

And Sylvain knows that he doesn’t mean this literally, knows that his 8-year old friend isn’t _actually_ going to go attempt to murder his brother in cold blood, but that still doesn’t stop his entire body from turning to ice.

“N-no, Felix, you can’t,” he chokes out, his head spinning with panic. “Please don’t do anything, _please_ -it’s just gonna make everything worse.”

It would make everything _so much worse._

No one would know, no one would ever know, no one would _ever be able to know,_ because Sylvain would be the only person able to see it happening.

And he knows what happens when he tries to tell.)

* * *

_Dark hands grab at him from all corners, twisting around his arms and legs as he thrashes around, trying to escape their grip. It doesn’t work, though, and there’s more cold hands on his wrists, in his hair, and they pull at him, dragging him down, down **down** -_

Sylvain shoots up in his bed, static buzzing in his ears despite the quiet of his dark room. Glancing out the window, he sighs, because judging by where the moon is currently sitting in the sky, he still has about 5 or 6 hours before he has to start leaving for Garreg Mach.

Well, shit.

Knowing full well that he’s not going to fall back asleep anytime soon, he pads over to the large door of his room and quietly slips out, not bothering to light a candle to take with him. He’s done this enough times that he knows where he’s going.

Mrs. Bellamy is in the same part of the servant’s kitchen that she always is, and her eyes brighten when she sees walk in.

“Oh, Sylvain!”

She seems to realize what time it is and deflates slightly.

“Ah...having trouble sleeping again?”

He shrugs, and raises his body up to sit down on the counter. She tuts at him disapprovingly, but there’s no real malice behind it.

“Hm...well, you’re leaving for the Academy today, right?" she says. "That’s exciting!" She smiles at him, her slightly transparent figure casting a soft dim light in the room.

He hums in approval. “Yeah, first thing in the morning.” He’s quiet for a moment. “...It’ll be nice to see them all again. You know, Felix, Dimitri, and Ingrid. It’s been awhile.”

“And Glenn,” she says.

“Right,” he says, looking down at his hands. “And Glenn.”

(It’s weird seeing someone attend their own funeral, he thinks. He’s not sure if he would want to attend his own, because it’s kind of hard to watch someone spread their completely wrong interpretation of you to all of your friends and family when you can’t do anything to correct them. Rodrigue’s speech is about how proud he is of Glenn, about how he knows that Glenn would have felt honored to die the way he did, but Sylvain knows that isn’t true, since Glenn is still sitting there in the corner, crying. He hasn’t stopped crying since Sylvain first saw him return, staring in horror at that bloody helmet, and as he watches him hug his knees to himself, his entire body wracking with anguished sobs, Sylvain realizes just how much Glenn looks like a kid.

 _He was always a kid,_ a voice at the back of his head says quietly, _you just forgot he was. Along with everyone else._ )

“You’ll have to tell me everything about it when you come back!”

He looks up at her in surprise. “You’re...you’re gonna wait that long?”

She frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

“It’ll be practically a whole year before we can talk again, I figured you were just finally gonna...you know...move on.”

She stares at him for a moment before smacking him on the arm.

“Hey-ow! What was that for?!”

“Sylvain Jose Gautier,” she snaps, “What kind of horrible person do you take me for to think that I would let you come back to this house after spending a year with your friends with practically no one to talk to but your _father._ ” She sighs. “I care about you Sylvain. All of us do. I’m not sure what I’ve done to make you think otherwise. I do expect you to tell me everything, though. Write some things down for later if you need to.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he grins instead. “Should I make a ‘Boar’ counter?”

She grins back. “Oh, you should definitely make a ‘Boar’ counter. Maggie’s been trying to mathematically calculate them with the abacus. We’ve been placing _bets.”_

* * *

Sylvain has an...odd relationship with the dead.

Ignoring the fact that he can see them, which already means he has more of a relationship with them than literally anyone else in the world, he’s never understood the whole mindset of people becoming angels in everyone else’s eyes when they die.

Because, well, ghosts can be kind of dicks sometimes.

It’s incredibly easy to insult someone to their face when you have complete confidence that they will never see or hear you. Sylvain already has to deal with enough living people talking about him behind his back, he really doesn’t need the added bonus of seeing the dead ones gossip about him directly in front of his face.

As he walks toward the entrance of Garreg Mach Monastery, already feeling people’s eyes on him, hearing muttering about his _reputation_ ( _good_ , a part of him thinks, _maybe then they’ll actually leave me alone_ ), his eyes widen at the sheer amount of ghosts meandering about. The area is already packed with students and merchants and citizens pouring in, but the addition of the dead makes everything around him feel even closer, and a part of his chest tightens as he-

Nope. Not doing this right now.

He powerwalks through the street as quickly as he can, squeezing past ghosts and darting around carts as he keeps his eyes fixed on the spot where he can tell the road opens up more. He breaks out through the other side, and-

Slams directly into someone’s back.

Staggering backwards slightly, because that had felt like a brick _wall, what the fuck,_ he glances upwards to see who he had bumped into and-freezes, because _holy hell_ , that’s a lot of ghosts.

There must be at least _twenty_ of them, all flanking the guy, who had turned around after he’d been bumped into and is now looking at him, slightly concerned.

“Oh...my apologies,” he says, which makes one of the ghosts behind him groan something in a language he doesn’t understand and give him a smack on the head that doesn’t actually land, “Are you alright?”

Sylvain knows he looks like an idiot just standing there, and that the poor guy probably thinks he’s intentionally being rude, but he’s not really sure if he can currently form the words to answer that question, because he’s pretty sure he’s just figured out who this is, and who all his ghosts are.

“Ah, don’t-don’t worry about it, I just wasn’t looking where I was going,” he manages to choke out, and holds up his hand for the other to shake. “You’re Dedue, right? Dimitri’s vassal? I’m Sylvain. We’re in the same house.”

Dedue stares at his hand like he’s just sprouted it from his body before slowly taking it and shaking it warily.

“...Yes, you are correct. My name is Dedue. It is nice to meet you.”

He looks at Sylvain like he expects him to start running away at any second, and the ghost who’d spoken earlier is now staring at him with her eyes narrowed, but he still grins up at Dedue after he finishes introducing himself.

“Cool. Do you want to go with me to the Dining Hall to grab some food? Fhirdiad is pretty far from here, and I’m pretty sure if I don’t eat something soon I’ll pass out before I even get to meet everyone else.”

He can see Dedue’s eyes flicker towards the people around them for a moment before he shakes his head.

“No, that is alright. You do not have to bother.”

He walks away before Sylvain can say anything else, all twenty-something ghosts ( _goddess_ , there are so many of them) dutifully trailing behind him, and the lingering stares to his back from the other students milling around almost make Sylvain wish that Dedue could see them too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor sylvain. poor dedue. 
> 
> i have about 13k of this written so far! the next part will probably be posted very quickly because this one is so short and i'm excited lol
> 
> also timelines are hard oof it's not super clear when the faerghus four stopped hanging out but sylvain heard about the boar thing somehow just go with it
> 
> anyway i hope people like this! i actually posted something i've been working on it's a miracle


	2. Chapter 2

Here’s the thing.

Sylvain had gone into this fully aware that some of his classmates were going to end up having ghosts, and he’d been mentally preparing himself for that in the weeks leading up to his departure.

So it catches him off-guard, then, when he sees Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd for the first time in years and finds no traces of his friend’s late father by his side.

King Lambert has been someone he’s been preparing himself to see the most, not really sure how to go about starting up a whole conversation with the guy, but his complete lack of presence is still...unsettling, to say the least. Given what he knows about the late King, and how he died, he’d figured he’d...stick around, and keep an eye on his son.

And yet…

“Ah, so...where in Faerghus are you from, Ashe?” Dimitri asks, and the sheer nothingness behind him is even more jarring, as he’s currently sat next to Dedue, who quite literally has an entire town behind him, and across from Ashe, who’s flanked by a boy that looks to be about Sylvain’s age (though that isn’t really an indicator of how old he actually should be).

He hasn’t said anything else to Dimitri since he’d greeted him, but his friend seems to be doing relatively fine; he was very excited to see Sylvain again and was eager to finally introduce him to Dedue (though the two had already met, much to Dimitri’s delight), so Sylvain tries to push away the nagging feeling in his brain that something about Lambert not being next to him is _off_ and just enjoy being with his old friends again.

“...Do you think Felix will come around?” Ingrid asks as she swallows her food, dragging him out of his thoughts.

Ah. Right.

He guesses he isn’t the only one feeling a bit mentally unprepared, because Felix had walked into the Dining Hall, seen Dimitri sitting there, and immediately turned around and walked back out, Glenn trailing behind him with a groan. He can tell Dimitri is trying to not let it get to him, though judging by his sort of strained smile, that clearly wasn’t working very well.

“I mean, he has to at some point. Though, knowing Felix, that probably won’t be anytime soon.”

“Oh, definitely.” She grins at him from around her cup. “I bet he’s still holding a grudge from when you made him play as the princess instead of the knight that one time when we were kids.”

“I literally don’t even remember what you’re talking about, but yes. It shakes him to his core to this very day.”

He looks down at his plate as Ingrid devolves into snickers, and makes up his mind.

“...I’m gonna go check on him. He’s probably in the training hall decimating some poor training dummy already.”

He stands up, grabbing an extra chicken leg from Ingrid’s plate. She gives him a look, but doesn’t say anything.

He knows he probably should have done this years ago, but now is as good of a time as any, especially since trying to put it off would only prove to be more of a hassle.

He needs to talk to Glenn Fraldarius. He hopes the other won't be too upset that it has taken him four whole years to build up the courage to do so.

* * *

The thing about being a ghost, Glenn had realized almost immediately, is that it gets very boring, _very quickly_ , and though he plans on staying with Felix for as long as the universe will allow him to (though it can be said that following him as a ghost is already pushing the limits of that, depending on what you believe), there were only so many offhand comments he could throw out to deaf ears before the novelty sort of began to wear off. And he’s been dead for four years.

He still likes to talk to Felix regardless, though, even if his little brother can’t hear him.

Right.

Little brother.

Glenn has been pointedly trying to ignore the fact that his brother is going to officially be older than him by the world’s standards in less than a year, and he’s pretty sure Felix is trying to do the same.

“You’re an idiot, I hope you know,” he says from the back of the training hall, watching his brother have a go at one of the dummies like it personally offended him, “It’s gonna be even harder for you to talk to Dimitri now. I can tell you want to, Fe, as much as you’re trying to fool yourself into thinking otherwise.” He turns his head to let his eyes flit over the walls of the building they're currently in. “...At least you’re here though. That’s a good start. Already doing way better than I ever did-though don’t go around telling everyone I said that.”

Felix, obviously, doesn’t respond, but Glenn imagines that his sharp breaths and grunts as he jabs at the dummy with his sword are meant to be an actual answer regardless.

He leans his head against the wall, turning his attention back to his brother. “Cool. Thanks, Fe. Knew I could count on you.”

There’s a small scuffling sound near the entrance as someone walks in, and Glenn looks to see Sylvain standing awkwardly in the doorway, holding a small plate of food in his hands.

(He leans on the wall of Sylvain’s bedroom, tracing the cracks on the ceiling with his eyes.

“I hope you all talk to each other soon, it’d be nice to see everyone together again. Dimitri’s doing...the best he can, I guess, but he met a kid in Duscur after-well, you know, and they’ve kinda been helping each other get through things, so that’s nice. I haven’t gone to see Ingrid yet, but from what Fe has been saying about how she’s been recently I’m a bit scared to, and my brother is-well, my brother. I’m pretty sure he’d figure out a way to somehow kill me again if he found out I was talking about his emotions to-woah, are you alright?

He ignores how pointless of a question that is given his current situation, but he can’t help asking it, because Sylvain is rigidly staring at a spot on the wall of his bedroom directly next to where Glenn currently is, his hands are shaking slightly, and the look on his face is pale, like he’s seen-

Well, like he’s seen a ghost. (Glenn finds that expression kind of insulting now, because he knows frustratingly well how even his best efforts to let someone know he’s there result in nothing but blank stares.)

“Did I come at a bad time? If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure the only people haunting your place are some nice old palace workers and uh-me, currently, so. Whatever horror you think you’re seeing right now isn’t actually there.”

Sylvain still doesn’t say anything, and the mood is getting almost uncomfortably awkward, now. Glenn hasn’t had any of his visits go like this before, and he’s suddenly not really sure what to do with himself.

He gives another look at the empty spot on the wall that seems to have captured Sylvain’s attention, for whatever reason. “Well. Uh. I was just checking in. Try to get Felix and Dimitri to talk for me.”

He visits Sylvain a few more times, but the same thing always happens. He doesn’t try again.)

Felix doesn’t seem to notice the other come in, and Glenn rolls his eyes.

“Hey dumbass, someone you’re actually willing to hold a conversation with is here. I think he brought food.”

He thinks he sees Sylvain’s eyes flicker over to him for a second, but it’s probably just his imagination. The redhead stands there for a few more agonizingly long seconds before awkwardly clearing his throat loudly.

“Hey, Felix!”

Sylvain’s voice sounds slightly strained, though Glenn can’t really place why.

Felix stiffens, and turns around. “Sylvain. What do you want.”

Ah, his brother. Ever the charmer.

“Nice to see you too, Felix,” Sylvain says dryly. “Come on, it’s been years, aren’t you excited to see me?”

“Forgive me for not jumping for joy, I have a lot on my mind. Did the boar put you up to this?”

“Nah, I just came to bring you some food, since that clearly wasn’t included in one of the _many_ things currently occupying your brain.”

He holds out the plate of food, which Felix stares at for a moment.

“Did you...eat some of this.”

“Hey, cut me some slack, I didn’t think of the idea immediately! The staff aren’t too keen on going back for seconds, anyways. If it’s any consolation, I don’t think Ingrid managed to touch that chicken leg before I stole it.”

Felix gives him a look before taking the plate wordlessly. Sylvain’s face is smug.

“...I’m not eating this here. Do you know where the room assignments are posted?”

The grin on Sylvain’s face falls.

“Ah, yeah, they’re on the board in the Dining Hall, but, uh-look, room assignments aren’t all that important, you know? It doesn’t really matter who we end up next to.”

Felix stares at him for a moment. “...You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

Sylvain says nothing. Glenn wants to laugh, because oh, this is incredible.

“Oh, for the love of-I’m going to the docks,” Felix says, and walks out, gripping the plate in his hands.

Glenn moves to follow him, but he freezes when Sylvain quickly walks in front of his path and makes direct eye contact with him.

What the fuck.

“Hi Glenn,” Sylvain says. “Can we talk?”

_What the fuck._

* * *

“What the fuck,” Glenn says, because that’s all he’s been able to say for the past two minutes, because, well, _what the fuck._

Sylvain had dragged him (Dragged him!! He had been able to touch him!!) into an obscured corner near the training hall where they're now sat, Sylvain looking up at him sheepishly.

“So, uh, I can explain-kind of, I’m still not really sure-”

“So you mean to tell me,” Glenn says, cutting him off, “that I could have been having an _actual_ conversation with someone I was close with for the entirety of these past four years, an _actual mutual conversation_ , and the only reason I _wasn’t_ is because you were too-”

“It was hard, okay!” Sylvain says, a bit too loudly, and he winces before lowering his voice. “It was hard seeing the ghost of someone I was really close with before they died. That had never happened before. When you came to see me, it-it was always really off-putting. You, uh. You didn’t look as...normal as you do now. It was really bad at the funeral, so that was all I kept seeing when I thought of you for a while. I’m sorry.”

Glenn doesn’t really remember much of his funeral, his memories from right after his death are all hazy and a bit of a blur, but he can imagine it probably wasn’t pretty.

“Hmph. So how the fuck can you...see me, exactly?”

“I honestly have no idea, it’s just something I’ve always been able to do. I’m pretty sure it’s the one part of my life that isn’t actually related to my crest somehow.”

“...Does anyone else know?”

Sylvain stiffens. “No,” he says shortly. “No one knows.”

“So you’ve seen all the other ghosts following everyone around, then?”

He nods. “Yeah. About that, though...do you know where Lambert is? I figured that he would’ve stuck with Dimitri, considering everything.”

That was...a very good question. Glenn had wondered the same thing himself, when he’d gotten more of a hold on himself after his death and had gone to see Dimitri one night.

“I haven’t even seen him once. My memories surrounding everything are all kind of hazy, so I don’t remember what he did right after we...you know, but he definitely hasn’t been hanging around.” Glenn frowns. “Speaking of hanging around, now that I know you can hear me and I can actually hold you to this, I need you to promise me something.”

“Oh, uh-sure. Shoot.”

“I need you to not let Felix, or any of these kids, be...like I was.”

“I mean, I’m not going to let anyone be killed, if that’s what you’re saying-”

“It’s not. At least, not entirely, but-” He sighs. “I-well you remember, I became a knight at a super young age, right? I never even _went_ to Garreg Mach.”

Sylvain nods.

“Everyone made such a big deal about it, especially my dad, and I was so excited. I thought I was so cool, getting places way earlier than any of my friends. So many people kept telling me how mature I was, how ahead of everyone I was, that it took standing in a burning village in a full suit of armor with the order to give up my life for the royal family for me to finally go _shit, wait, I’m still practically a child, what the **hell** have I gotten myself into_.”

He hears the anger slipping into his voice, and wounds begin flickering onto his arms. He’s quiet for a moment to steel himself. Sylvain doesn’t say anything.

“But it was too late at that point. There was nothing I could do. I’d sped through the time I had to grow up and be a kid in order to reach this grand finish line that only ended up being my immediate death, and I was going too fast to have the foresight to see where the road I was on would lead me towards.” He looks over to the training center. “Felix is strong, and that’s also part of why I’m staying, to be honest. I can make up for everything I missed before, and see my brother be stronger than my dad’s shitty parenting, see him be stronger than Faerghus’ whole bullshit mentality, see him be stronger than _me_.”

He goes quiet again, and turns back to look at Sylvain, his gaze hard.

“I believe in Felix, but if you see him start going too far, you _have to stop him_. Same goes for Ingrid, or Dimitri, or the others in your house, or-hell, even yourself. It’s not just for my sake, it’s for Felix’s too, I-he can’t go through that again. I can’t _see_ him go through that again. To be honest, he’d probably be able to notice if something’s wrong, but-come on, you know my brother, there’s only so much emotional intelligence his brain can handle in a day before it short circuits.”

He smiles at that, briefly, but it’s gone just as soon as it had come.

“...I think the only other person who really understands everything is Dimitri, but of course Felix won’t talk to him. I don’t remember much, but I know that he was there when I, you know. I know that he saw me-he could probably tell that me dying for him was my final and biggest regret. Which is a lot to put on a fourteen year-old kid who just saw his father also get murdered in front of him, I’ll admit, so, my bad. When I went to see him I could tell he wanted to talk to Felix about it, but Felix had also had practically everyone running up to him just to say that the brutal murder of his seventeen year-old brother was something to be _proud_ of, so I don’t think he was expecting too much from the kid I’d literally died for. And then there’s the whole Boar thing.”

“Ah,” Sylvain says. “The Boar thing.”

“He didn’t really know how to go about things after Duscur, but then that battle they went on together happened, and then he _really_ didn’t know how to go about things, and it’s all escalated into the clusterfuck you see before you now. And this is only day one. I can tell that, somewhere in there, Fe actually does care about Dimitri, and wants to be close with him again, but, you know, he’s a Fraldarius. We’re not exactly known for our emotional vulnerability.”

He lets out a small huff.

“...Are you sure this isn’t some weird thing with your crest? You just got a _Fraldarius_ to talk about his feelings for longer than a sentence. That’s gotta be some kinda record.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor glenn.
> 
> next time: christophe feels like he's going to lose his head (again), there's absolutely nothing wrong with the librarian, and there's a newcomer to the academy. probably no one important.
> 
> also,
> 
> happy birthday fe3h! in japan at least. i love you a lot even though trying to figure out your pre-canon timeline makes my brain hurt


	3. Chapter 3

Christophe Gaspard loves his brother. His brother is probably one of the smartest, kindest, most wonderful people in existence.

And he appreciates the gesture.

He really, really does.

But seriously Ashe, _Garreg Mach?_

His brother had immediately realized something wasn’t quite right about his death, and he was very proud of him for that, but he had figured that that would’ve meant he would try to _stay away_ from any potential danger, not _charge right into it._ It didn’t help that his dad had practically jumped at the chance to let Ashe go, since he was probably expecting some sort of answer to be found there as well. Ugh. How dare his family be so invested in his murder.

His skin hasn’t stopped crawling since they’d gotten here, and it had taken ages for his neck to stop hurting after he’d spotted the Archbishop. He thanks whatever the hell is up there that Cass- _Catherine, as she so insisted,_ is currently nowhere to be seen. He’s pretty sure he’ll lose his head once he sees her. Literally. 

He thinks his hesitance is affecting Ashe, because he’s seen his brother shiver sometimes in direct sunlight. Oh well. It was his own fault, anyway. He’d _tried_ to stop him from going.

...Okay, maybe he’d just increased his brother’s almost debilitating fear of ghosts (he really had to stop trying eventually, it was honestly getting out of hand), but the point remains that he’d at least _attempted_ to warn him.

He likes all of Ashe’s classmates well enough. He’s a bit wary of that one girl-Mercedes, was it?-but she seems fairly harmless, and Ashe seems to like her (though that isn’t a very hard thing to achieve), so he’s choosing to trust his brother’s judge of character at the moment.

Hell, it’s certainly better than his own.

(He’s dead. He’s allowed to be at least a little petty.)

At least he has plenty of new company to talk to. He tries not to think too hard about the fact that one of the kids has an entire _village_ with him, and enjoys getting to know Dedue’s family and neighbors. His sister is wonderful, and the look of confusion on her face when she saw him tagging behind his brother’s pale ass was well worth the length of time he’d gone without really getting to meet anyone new.

Not that meeting anyone new was something to fully celebrate, though. There’s always this mutual feeling of _ah, you too? I’m sorry,_ and _oh thank fuck, my concept of time is shit but I’m so desperate for human interaction that I know that it’s been way too long_ from both parties, and Christophe isn’t sure if he’ll ever get used to it. Things were weird when you were dead.

Ashe is currently heading to the library, and though he’d told Annette it was to go see if they had this particular book on bow tactics, that had been a big fat _lie_ , because he knew his brother was only going there so he could geek out over whatever fancy first edition copies of Loog they had.

Christophe knows this is pointless, though. They don’t have anything. He’d looked on his first day.

He hopes Tomas is still here. He’d been his favorite teacher, even if he technically didn’t count as one, and the old man would always let him borrow way more books than was technically allowed. They’d even traded recommendations at one point, and Christophe had smiled when he’d seen that Ashe had packed one of Christophe’s old favorites that Tomas had told him about with his other books.

They enter the library, and Christophe is happy to see that it looks just as he remembers it, even if being back at the Monastery is resurfacing a whole slew of other memories he really doesn’t feel like digging into. 

He spots the old man in the corner with his back currently turned away from them, and grins.

“Hey, Tomas, my man! How’re ya holding up?” he says, despite knowing he won’t respond.

Tomas turns around when he hears the floorboards creak under Ashe’s feet, and Christophe freezes, his body turning even colder than it already is.

Because that...is _not_ Tomas.

It’s Tomas’ body, sure, but his eyes are completely white, his skin is a mottled gray, and a thick, black liquid is _pouring_ out of his mouth and leaking out of his eyes.

He looks like a corpse. And it’s fucking _horrifying._

Ashe, however, doesn’t seem to notice, and greets the... _thing_ with a smile, completely unaware of Christophe’s increasing panic.

They need to leave. Now.

“ _Ashe!”_ he yells, whirling around the room to look for anything he can try to use, “Ashe, you need to get _out_ of here, _seriously!”_

A few books fly off the shelves. Ashe’s eyes widen slightly, but the Thing waves a broken hand.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” it says, and _shit,_ its voice is fucking _grating,_ and sort of sounds like what Christophe thinks five people dragging their nails across a chalkboard while all simultaneously screaming at different pitches would sound like, but somehow infinitely worse. “It’s probably just from the wind.”

There are no windows in the library. Ashe’s eyes widen a little more. _Good._

Christophe channels as much of his mounting panic and fear as he can, letting it swirl up and fester around him, and more books fall off the shelves. Some papers fly off one of the tables. The stairs creak from an invisible weight. His neck starts burning, but he ignores it. Ashe needs to _leave._

He’s glad his brother has become so jumpy to things like this over the years (no thanks in part to him, unfortunately), because he can see him start to glance around worriedly.

“Ah, actually-I think I’ll just come back later when I have more time-I promised a friend I would help her with something, but thank you!” Ashe says hurriedly, and then he’s out the door, Christophe fleeing behind him as he claws at his neck and chokes for air that he doesn’t really need.

They’re never going back in there again. He’s making sure of it.

* * *

There’s a new student in school.

No one’s really sure where she came from, or who she is, just that the house leaders had gone out, been attacked by some bandits, and returned with considerably more people than they’d left with.

“I heard she saved Edelgard’s life,” Annette says over breakfast, her eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. “I mean, she saved all of their lives, but one of the bandits was charging at her, and the girl practically _appeared_ out of nowhere to stop him-she’s a mercenary or something, right? I bet she’s really good!”

“Did the boar tell you that?” Felix asks dryly, swatting Ingrid’s hand away as she tries to nab a scone from his plate. “Don’t believe anything he says. I’m sure he just got excited from being in a battle and overexaggerated things.”

Ingrid frowns, both at being denied the scone and Felix’s tone. “Come on, you know His Highness doesn’t talk lightly of skill. If he’s saying she’s that skilled, I’m sure she is. She _did_ save all of their lives, after all.”

“She seems so young, too!” Mercedes says, a slightly amused smile on her lips as she nibbles at a scone of her own. “I was walking by the infirmary when Manuela was doing a quick check-up of her, and-Oh! Hello, Your Highness! How are you feeling?”

The group collectively look up to see Dimitri walk over to where they’re currently sitting, wringing his hands awkwardly. He comes to a stop at the head of the table and stands stiffly, like he’s unsure whether he should sit down or not.

“Ah, good morning everyone!” he says, a little too loudly. “I’m sorry I was unable to join you this morning, I had a, ah, _thing_ to. Attend.” He coughs, and Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “I’m fine though, thank you Mercedes, it’s all really thanks to that-” he pauses, and reddens slightly, like he can’t quite get himself to say the words, “- _new girl.”_

There’s also a slight hint of amusement in his eyes as he speaks, and _oh,_ Sylvain knows that look. Sparing a glance over at Ingrid and Felix (and subsequently, Glenn), he can see that they recognize it as well, though Felix looks slightly put off.

It’s good to see that not much has changed since they were younger, then. Dimitri is still a shit liar.

* * *

  
  


“He’s hiding something,” Ingrid says as they leave the dining hall together, Felix and Glenn in tow.

“No shit,” Felix mutters begrudgingly, as Glenn asks, “What do you think his deal is?”

“It’s gotta be something about that new mercenary,” Sylvain says, both as a response to Glenn and a spoken thought to the others. “Did you see his face when he mentioned her? I can’t believe he still hasn’t learned how to lie.”

“Only about the important things,” Felix scoffs.

Ingrid rolls her eyes with a smug grin, ignoring him. “Yeah, and I bet you’d love it to have something to do with the new mercenary, huh Sylvain? Give the poor girl a few days to get settled before you start chasing after her.”

Sylvain isn’t sure whether to feel impressed at himself for pulling it off this well or slightly miffed that someone he’s known for practically his whole life is still fooled. Maybe a mix of both.

He huffs indignantly. “Hey, I’m a man of standards! I haven’t even seen the lady in question yet.”

The _lady in question_ , as it turns out, is probably the strangest person he’s ever laid eyes on, and he freezes once they spot her on the other side of the entrance hall, because everything in his body is screaming at him that something is definitely _off._

“What,” Ingrid jokes when she sees him stop in his tracks, “love at first sight?”

“Heh, yep,” he manages weakly, because it’s all his brain can really handle at the moment with how quickly it’s trying to work out what he’s seeing, “She’s one hell of a looker.”

“You’re hopeless,” he thinks he hears Ingrid mutter, but he’s not really focused on her, because the person standing in front of him is a ghost.

Or rather, everything about her says that she _should_ be a ghost, but clearly everyone else can see her, and Sylvain can also tell that she is _technically_ alive.

But.

Ghosts have a certain...feeling about them-it differs or intensifies depending on their current state, but is still always there, settling comfortably around them like a cool breeze. The woman in front of them has the same feeling, only-it feels tight. Restrained. It’s lapping at his feet and then being sharply pulled back, like it’s on a leash. 

The woman turns her attention to them as they approach her, Sylvain on slightly unsteady legs, and her blue eyes flash green for a moment, wisps of wild hair and bloody wounds appearing on her body before they’re snubbed.

“Hello,” she says, “My name is Byleth.”

Her voice is low, and somewhat monotone, but Sylvain almost thinks he hears the sound of something much lighter woven in before it fades away.

Sylvain is, suffice to say, sufficiently weirded out, and kind of hopes he never has to talk to this woman again.

The universe, of course, has other plans.

The woman later reintroduces herself as Byleth, their new _professor,_ and Sylvain knows that it’s going to be a very, very long year.

* * *

Sylvain’s trying to listen to what Professor Byleth is saying. He really is. She’d brought up the upcoming mock battle, and Sylvain knows that the words that are currently coming out of her mouth are probably going to be very useful and important, but he has no idea what she’s been saying for the past five minutes.

Because there is a ghost on his desk.

Ashe’s ghost (he still isn’t sure what the relationship between the two is) has apparently made it his mission to be as _annoying_ as possible, and had immediately decided to drape himself over Sylvain’s desk the moment that class had started.

He knows that he probably should be taking notes, or writing down what he was interested in studying, but he _can’t,_ and the scritching of quills around him only makes his complete inability to do anything so much worse. The ghost seems to sense his irritation, and the shit-eating grin on his face only grows the longer he sits there.

“Sylvain,” the professor says, and it takes him a moment to realize that she’d stopped talking at some point, “I know I’m a mercenary, but I really don’t bite.”

There’s a beat of silence as she furrows her brow, seemingly rethinking that statement.

“...Much.” 

Sylvain has absolutely no idea if she’s joking or not, because she says this with zero emotion on her face. He doesn’t think his classmates can tell, either.

“There’s no need to look so uncomfortable,” she continues. “And please actually write something on that paper by the end of class.”

“Ah, sorry professor! I’ve just been distracted by how nice you look today,” he says, because it’s easy, and everyone will buy it. 

They do.

“Come _on_ Sylvain, seriously?” Ingrid groans, as Dimitri chokes out a cough and Ashe gasps a little.

Professor Byleth only stares at him. “Okay,” she says after a moment, her voice as monotone as ever. “Then don’t be.”

She turns back around as the ghost erupts into laughter, and _yeah, okay_ , Sylvain really needs to get this guy off his desk. Just as he’s figuring out a way to inconspicuously shove him off in a way that will look like he’s just dealing with a rather oddly-shaped bug, the ghost swats him on the forehead and hops off, still giggling slightly.

“Okay, okay,” he says, “that was worth it. I’ll stop now.”

Sylvain raises an eyebrow at him in a silent question.

The ghost grins. “What? I saw you talking to Glenn, and wanted to have some fun. Come on, I’m dead, give me a break. I have literally nothing else to do.” He frowns. “I do have something I need to talk to you about after class, though. It’s really fucking weird. Weirder than whatever,” he gestures between them, “ _this_ is.” He brightens again. “Oh! I’m Christophe! Ashe’s brother. Not by blood.” He points at his face, which is visibly a few shades darker than Ashe’s despite being slightly translucent. “Obviously.”

“ _Sylvain,”_ the professor drawls again, and Sylvain realizes with a jolt that he’s been very intently staring at absolutely nothing for the past minute.

Christophe snickers at him. “Sorry dude. We should come up with a code or something. But I do really need to talk to you later.”

* * *

  
  


Of all the things Sylvain had expected Christophe to tell him, this was definitely not one of them.

“...The librarian is _what,”_ he says incredulously. He’s currently sat on a bench in the courtyard outside the classroom where, thankfully, no one else has bothered to stick around in. Christophe had been anxiously buzzing around for the rest of class, eager to talk with him, but the look he fixes Sylvain with now is serious.

“I told you, the guy’s like a walking corpse! It was creepy as hell. I’ve never seen anything like it. Ashe didn’t notice anything was wrong, so I know that this is some weird ghost thing.”

Sylvain frowns. “He’s been working here for ages though, right? Do you think he’s been like that this whole time?” He hasn’t been to the library yet, but from what he knows of the guy, the librarian has been working at the monastery for _years,_ and the man is practically ancient. He hopes that the Church had had enough sense to not hire someone who was kind-of-dead for this long, though they don’t exactly have the best track record in that department. Sylvain really wants to know where they’re getting these people from.

Christophe shakes his head hurriedly, his eyes wide. “He definitely wasn’t like that when I was here. He was a cool guy! I don’t wanna think that I was talking to some horrifying amalgamation of a dead body this whole time.”

“I mean, you were also alive when you were here.”

“...Low blow, Sylvain. I literally got my head cut off for no reason.”

“What the hell are you two going on about,” a new voice says, and Sylvain looks over to see Glenn approaching them. Christophe doesn’t introduce himself, so Sylvain assumes the two have already met.

“Apparently our librarian is possessed, or something. It’s unclear how long this has been going on for. Christophe may have been friends with a corpse-” the man in question begins to splutter in protest, but Sylvain ignores him, “-What are you doing here?”

Glenn shrugs. “Felix is doing his homework, and I got bored. I’m glad I get to experience school vicariously through my brother, but I don’t think I’ll miss out on much of the experience if I pass on watching him write on some paper in silence for an hour.” He frowns, then. “But what’s this about the librarian?”

Sylvain looks at Christophe expectantly, who wrings his hands together. A deep gash flashes on his neck briefly before it’s gone again.

“I’m...not really sure. It can’t be anything good, though. It was like-it was like something had _killed_ him, and was using his corpse to walk around. He’s been working here for like, forty-something years though-and I’m almost positive that he wasn’t like that when I was here, so _something_ must have happened to him in the time after I graduated. That was-what, like nine years ago? A lot of shit can happen in nine years.”

Glenn furrows his brow, deep in thought. “What the hell would someone want with an _old librarian,_ though? I can’t imagine he’d be anyone’s first pick for a vessel.”

They’re all quiet for a moment before Christophe suddenly gasps, and Sylvain can practically see the pieces slotting together in his brain.

“It’s because he’s _here_ ! I’m such an idiot-it’s the _Church,_ it’s always the Church-Tomas has been working here for ages, right? So everyone’s obviously gonna trust him. If he acts a little odd sometimes, who cares? He’s a harmless old man who’s been working at the monastery for longer than most people here have been alive-someone’s using him as their inside man. He’s a _leak_.”

Sylvain frowns, and cocks his head. “What would they want out of the Church, though? And why? This clearly must’ve taken a lot of effort-whoever these people are, they were pretty intent on getting in.”

Christophe shrugs, but there’s an expression on his face that Sylvain can’t quite read. “The church has a lot of enemies. Which is why-” a grin creeps onto his face, “-we’re going to find out why they’re here. If we figure that out, we’ll have a better idea of who they are-and what they’re going to do next.” He slams a fist on his hand determinedly. “It’s a conspiracy! Between the three of us, I know we can get to the bottom of this-I’ll ask Maia if she wants to join in too.”

Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “Maia?”

* * *

Dedue’s gardening again.

Maia likes watching him garden. Ma does too, which is why the two are quietly sat in the greenhouse together as he works. That small smile he would get when they would teach him new recipes always makes its way onto his face when he sits by his plants, and it reminds her-

Well, it reminds her of home.

Fuck, she misses him. 

She knows it’s odd to say that when she’s been right by his side the past four years, but it isn’t the same, not even close. She misses talking with him, she misses their cooking competitions that involved increasingly more spices the older he got, she misses butchering her needlework so badly when she does it with him that she can tell he’s trying very hard not to laugh, and she misses how much more open he used to be before everyone in Faerghus suddenly decided they had a problem with her brother the moment they laid eyes on him.

Gods, she just wants him to be able to see her. She wants him to know that she’s there. That Ma’s there. That they’re _all_ there. They’ve been there the whole time.

Her brother’s low voice breaking the quiet of the greenhouse startles her out of her thoughts, and she realizes that she's completely missed that one freckly kid enter the greenhouse and seemingly trip over himself-as he is currently on the floor, and Dedue is asking if he’s alright.

Freckly kid isn’t too bad, though the bar certainly isn’t very hard to meet. Right now, it’s currently at “treat my brother like an actual human being”, which, well, he does, but Maia really wishes they could get past the point where basic human decency is rare enough that it needs to be celebrated.

Freckly kid scrambles to his feet, awkwardly scratching at his neck. “Ah, yes, I’m alright!” he says hurriedly, and his attention turns to the small plant Dedue is currently holding in his hands. 

“Oh, what kind of plant is that, Dedue? I’ve never seen it before.”

Her brother regards him for a moment, and Maia does as well. As decent as Freckly Kid has seemed so far, she still knows she can’t afford to let her guard down. Unfortunately. Ma’s far too trusting for her own good, though, and she gives Freckly Kid a kind smile when she sees him speak.

“It is...from my hometown, in Duscur,” Dedue says carefully, like he’s expecting the kid to flee at any moment, and the hesitance in his voice makes Maia’s heart twinge. She hates seeing her brother like this. “I’m sure you are aware-there is not much of it left. I wanted to grow some to set up in my room.” He looks at the plant, and is silent for a moment. “...We are taught, when we are young, that when we grow something in our soil, we are also growing our connection to our land. I...feel like my connection has weakened, sometimes. It is silly, but this is my way of trying to get some of it back, even if I cannot garden on the soil of my home.”

It isn’t until Freckly Kid walks away, leaving Dedue with both the reassurance that he wasn’t being silly at all and a request to grow some of the plant in his own room, that Maia realizes she’s crying, and Ma’s placed her hand on her shoulder.

Her brother has settled back into silence as he stares at his small garden, and all she wants to do is scream, to yell out to him that she’s _here_ , to grab him by the face and make him _look at her,_ look at Ma, look at every person from their small town that he’d managed to make enough of an impact on that they’d chosen to stay with him even in death.

 _You haven’t lost your connection with Duscur, you big dummy,_ she thinks, watching her brother’s shoulders move as he returns to his work. _You never have._

* * *

  
  


Sylvain _really_ needs to start paying more attention when he’s walking.

He forgets, sometimes, that he can physically interact with ghosts, and the reminder seems to always come in the form of him slamming into some poor unsuspecting one that hasn’t had to worry about bumping into any living people for ages.

This reminder is particularly brutal, because he bumps into two people this time _,_ and he stumbles back a bit to be met with the slightly startled faces of who he assumes are Dedue’s mother and sister. His sister looks like she’s been crying a bit, but that’s not really what he’s focused on, because _shit,_ Dedue is with them, and Sylvain just appeared to slam into an invisible wall right next to him.

“...Sylvain,” Dedue says slowly, and _goddess,_ Sylvain’s just doomed to have eternally embarrassing encounters with this guy, isn’t he, “Did I...bump into you? I apologize.”

He shakes his head quickly, ignoring the stares of Dedue’s family members. “Nah, you’re fine, I just tripped over a break in the road.”

They’re in front of the greenhouse. The road is cobblestone. This is a perfectly reasonable explanation, right? Sure.

Desperate to salvage this interaction, Sylvain notices the tools in Dedue’s hands.

“Oh, hey, were you gardening in the greenhouse?”

Dedue nods.

“Ah, that’s cool-I have some old seeds from home lying around but I can’t grow for shit so I’m too scared to plant them-” Dedue smirks slightly at that, which makes Sylvain grin, “-so maybe you could give me some advice sometime? You know, if you want.”

There’s a beat of silence before Dedue is nodding again, but there’s a small smile on his face. “That would be nice. I can be...quite talkative when it comes to plants.”

The mildly amused expression on Dedue’s face tells Sylvain that that last part was meant as a joke, which makes him grin even more, because he’s pretty sure he hasn’t even seen the guy smile once since they got here.

“Great! Thanks, Dedue.”

As soon as Dedue walks away there’s a cold hand on his wrist, and he’s abruptly yanked to the side of the greenhouse with a yelp. He’s greeted with the faces of Dedue’s family, and his sister had clearly spent that entire conversation trying to make herself look like she hadn’t just been crying, so he decides to pretend like that had worked way better than it actually did, for her sake.

“Hi,” she says, and holds up the arm that has his wrist in her hand. “We need to talk about _this._ ”

“Oh,” he says, because he’s an idiot, “You can-”

She snorts. “Yeah, I can speak the language, my brother had to learn it, and it’s not like I had anything better to do.” She smirks at him. “What, did you expect me to speak in a second language around my family and friends when I thought no one else was listening?”

He pales. “N-no, I just. Uh. I’m sorry.”

She waves him off. “It’s fine. I’m really the only one who’s fluent, though the others have been trying to learn more lately.” She turns to look at her mother, who is about a foot shorter than both of her children. “Ma’s pretty good too, she’s just bad at remembering some words since she’s old.” 

Her mother frowns at that, and she laughs, hitting her on the arm as she says something to her in Duscurian. Her mother rolls her eyes with a sigh as she says something back, and the ghost turns back to Ashe. “Anyway-I’m Maia, Dedue’s older sister. I’m technically nine years older than him, but that’s kinda been screwed with, since,” she gestures to herself, “you know.”

“My name is Erna,” Dedue’s mother says. Her voice is low and warm, just like Dedue’s. “Thank you for being kind to my son.”

Sylvain frowns, and shakes his head. “No, I-I hardly even did anything. You shouldn’t have to thank me for stuff like that. He’s a cool guy. I’m just acting like any other person should.”

Maia scoffs. “Yeah, well, we’ve been here for awhile, and they _don’t_ . It’s ridiculous! My brother is the sweetest person I’ve ever met, and it only takes one conversation with him to see that, but they won’t even let themselves make it that far. Hell, if there’s anyone they need to be “scared of”, it’s _me_ , because if I ever figure out a way to let your weirdo ghost powers allow me to make physical contact with something that isn’t you, _hoo boy.”_ She gives him a look. “I don’t suppose I could get you to take care of some of that for me, huh?”

“I’m not letting you write me a hit list, no.”

“Ugh, it’s not a hit list! Just...don’t let anyone give him bullshit, if you see it. Or hear me yelling about it. I’ll definitely come yelling. We can call the list a... _List of People That Maia Would Like to Know The Locations Of When They Become Ghosts.”_

“...That still sounds like a hit list.”

“It’s not a hit list if they’re already dead,” she says with a grin.

...She has a point. Sylvain can’t argue with sound logic like that.

“Heh, I can tell by your face that you know I’m right,” she says, and her grin falls. “I am serious about getting people to stop treating him like he’s some awful monster, though. He’s been putting up with this shit for four years, and I hate that I can’t _do_ anything about it. He tries not to let it get to him, but I can tell that it does.”

Sylvain nods. “Of course. He shouldn’t have to have his life dictated by what assholes think of him,” he says, and immediately regrets doing so, because it’s not like his situation could even hold a candle to what Dedue has to deal with.

“Also…” Erna says, a sad look in her eyes, “Please cook with him. He loves it, but cooking alone is...never the same. Ask him to make something from Duscur. He hasn’t in a...very, very long time, and I can tell it makes him sad when he realizes that. I can help you cook if you are not very good at it, just-please. That Dimitri boy means well, but I don’t think even the help of a ghost would enable him to cook well. He has no taste.”

Sylvain files that choice of wording away in his brain for later, and nods again. “You got it. I probably would have ended up asking him anyway, to be honest. I can’t cook for shit, but Dimitri says he’s great at it, and I’ve always wanted to learn.”

Erna smiles at him. “Thank you. You are a good man, Sylvain.”

He really isn’t, but he thanks her anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good guy tomas. what a nice man.
> 
> you ever give your brother a fear of ghosts by trying to convince him that you're there? just christophe things <3
> 
> next time: we see everyone's ghosts, i spread my sylvain annette bro agenda, and the lions get their first mission :)


	4. Chapter 4

Sylvain has managed to catch brief glimpses of some of the other students in the academy, but the mock battle is the first time he really sees the full brunt of them, and he has to stop himself for a moment because- _holy fuck,_ there are ghosts _everywhere._

The sight is...disorienting to say the least, as Professor Byleth had positioned him towards the back of the field, which ended up giving him a wide, clear view of the area.

The sheer _silence_ around Dimitri is as odd as ever, especially with him right next to Dedue, where the entire town the guy carries with him roar with encouragement whenever he lands a blow. 

Glenn chides Felix with “Come on Fe, I know you’ve got more in you than _that_ , that’s it,” but there’s a smile on his face, and Christophe flits around excitedly as his younger brother nocks his arrows. 

An older man appears behind Mercedes sometimes, though whenever he does he looks almost unsure about it, like he doesn’t know if he should even be there or not. 

The couple occasionally popping behind Marianne have the same kind of feeling, though they seem to be nervously glancing around at their surroundings, as if looking out for something. 

There’s a _very_ intimidating looking man behind one of the Black Eagle girls-Petra, he thinks her name is-but the look he fixes her with is filled with nothing but pride. 

The woman behind Dorothea looks almost laughably out of her element, getting startled into coughing fits whenever a weapon happens to swing near her, but she still looks excitedly pleased whenever the girl fires off a spell.

The absolute _giant_ of a man with hair as shockingly pink as the girl he tags behind is feeding her constant encouragement, the shouts of “Come _on_ Hilda! Show these kids what you’re made of!” almost as loud as the Duscurians. 

The couple behind Raphael look like they don’t quite understand what’s going on, but they still cry “Oh, Raph! Look, honey, he’s doing it!” whenever one of his punches lands, and even cheer for the green-haired Golden Deer kid whenever he shoots his bow. 

Even the other professors have them, and Sylvain feels a twinge of awkwardness at so easily being able to stare into a part of their personal lives like this. There’s a woman that looks to be much younger than Professor Hanneman behind him, and there’s a pang of sadness in Sylvain’s chest when he realizes what that might mean, since he doesn’t think the professor has any children. There’s also a woman behind Seteth, though the look she’s currently giving Flayn is making Sylvain _very_ confused since he could have sworn Seteth had said Flayn was his sister, and he snaps his gaze away, feeling like he’s stumbled into something that he _definitely_ is not supposed to know about.

His eyes flicker over to Edelgard, and that’s when he stops.

Edelgard has...a lot of ghosts, about as half as many as Dedue (which is a testament to just how many _he_ has), though they’re nothing like the ones shadowing his other classmates. Some of them seem to be almost _distorted_ , or like they struggle to stay next to her for too long, their bodies flickering into horribly bloodied forms or disappearing every few seconds. It’s hard to look at, and it becomes even more so when Sylvain realizes that they all look like they could be her siblings, though some of them are sporting light brown hair instead of Edelgard’s stark white.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts when Hilda comes charging at him with her training axe swinging, the ghost by her side laughing as he practically jumps out of his skin and darts out of the way.

They end up winning the battle, and Sylvain swears he hears what sounds like the light sound of a child’s laughter mixed in with their class’ cheers as they celebrate that night.

* * *

Sylvain sits on a bench in the courtyard, Professor Byleth’s words from earlier echoing in his head.

“ _Archbishop Rhea is sending you all on a mission,_ ” she’d said, after they’d settled into their seats. “ _We have been asked to take care of some bandits. You may end up having to...end someone’s life. Please keep that in mind._ ”

She’d left it at that, and had turned to the chalkboard to start her lesson, leaving them all in slightly stunned silence.

Sylvain had acknowledged that he’d probably end up having to make a ghost at some point in his life.

_“You may end up having to end someone’s life.”_

He just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

He’d seen some of the ghosts that end up following their murderers. He knows what they look like. What they _sound_ like. The waves of anger and pain and torture that roll off of them. The way they’re eternally poised, waiting and watching for their chance to strike once the person that took their life from them dies as well.

He doesn’t want to see his classmates start collecting them. He can’t. He-

“Sylvain?”

Felix is standing a few feet away, staring at him. Glenn is next to him. Sylvain has no idea how long they’ve been there.

He gives what he hopes is an easy smile. “Oh, hey, Felix! What’s up?”

Felix frowns. “Don’t be like that,” he snaps, and moves to sit next to Sylvain on the bench. “I know you’re thinking about what the professor said in class.”

Sylvain doesn’t respond. Felix huffs.

“...There’s a certain kind of feeling, on a battlefield,” he says, after a moment. He’s not looking at Sylvain. “A mutual agreement. You go in there, and you know what you’re getting yourself into. The person you’re fighting does as well. If you both go at each other, weapons raised, it’s a decision from both sides to exhaust any and all other options. If we approach these bandits, and they don’t choose to back down-they’ve all acknowledged that possible outcome.”

“But it’s-you’re still-”

“-I know,” Felix says. “I know. But you have to-” his fingers tighten around the bench, “-you have to make that distinction. There’s a difference between someone who kills to kill and someone who kills to survive.”

Neither of them speak for a moment.

Sylvain swallows, hard. “If someone ever...in a fight, would you be-would you be angry at them?”

A beat.

“...The dead don’t care, Sylvain,” Felix says quietly. “But I’d be more angry at myself for losing, if anything. If it wasn’t me, it would have been them. We both would know that.” 

They both go quiet again.

“...Thank you, Felix.”

Felix only hums in response, standing up from the bench and looking at him for a moment before walking away. Glenn lingers behind.

“He’s right, you know,” Glenn says. “He’s right, but he shouldn’t know how to be.”

Sylvain hopes he’ll always be able to agree.

_“The dead don’t care, Sylvain.”_

Felix’s shadow is empty as he walks away.

* * *

Their class is sparring again today. Professor Byleth likes to send them all out to the training hall quite a lot, but Sylvain doesn’t really mind. It’s easy enough for him to slip into his mask and let his dodging instincts take over, and while he puts in enough effort to make it look like he’s at least _somewhat_ trying, it’s never an amount that leaves him exhausted by the end.

Felix is currently up against Dedue, and the cheers from the Duscurians are so loud they nearly manage to completely drown out the mirroring cheers of his classmates. The nearly deafening roars they let out whenever Dedue lands a hit make him smile, and he leans back in his seat as Felix manages to launch himself up from where Dedue had had him pinned to the ground.

He knows Felix is, well, Felix, but he still doesn’t fully understand his friend’s obsession with putting as much effort as he can into things as small as routine sparring practices for school. He knows what expectations of someone can turn into if they’re left on their own to fester and grow (hell, look what they’d done to Glenn), and he’s careful to always have his performances in these matches leave...something to be desired. The pointed looks Felix and Glenn always give him tell him that he’s not fooling everyone yet, but oh well. Felix will get it eventually. He hasn’t seen Sylvain in a while, after all. A lot of things can change in four years.

Professor Byleth ends the match and turns her attention to him, and he shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. Her blank stare is unsettling enough, but the slight flashes of green he sees occasionally are enough to make him uneasy about having her study him like this.

“Sylvain,” she says after a moment, her voice echoing eerily in the hall, “go up against Annette. Reason magic only.”

Ah.

He supposes he hasn’t been as careful as he’d thought, then. As strange as Professor Byleth is, it shouldn’t be too hard to make her see that his previous homework assignments were nothing more than copied answers from textbooks and lucky guesses. No big deal.

His crest is almost perfect for him in a way, he thinks, as he makes his way down to the stands. It’s only really effective if he puts in the extra effort with his attacks, so when he lays low, it’s almost easy to pretend like he doesn’t even have it. He stands across from Annette on the floor and gives her an easy smile, letting his mask slip on as he focuses in on the sounds of the ghosts around him, allowing everything else to fade into a quiet buzz. He registers the feeling of Annette’s wind whipping around him, and absentmindedly shoots out some of his fire in a response, but it’s over very quickly, and he allows everything to fade back in once he realizes he’s on the floor.

Standing up, he brushes himself off, and offers Annette a grin that she doesn’t return.

“Hey, nice job!” he says. “You got me good.”

Annette only frowns, and her face contorts in something that almost looks like anger-and this is where Sylvain knows he must have fucked something up, because up until this point he wasn’t sure if Annette even knew _how_ to be genuinely angry.

“You’re ridiculous,” she grits out, reaching up to twist at something in her ear. When he only blinks in response, she huffs and stalks back to her seat, leaving Sylvain both confused and slightly concerned. He hasn’t known Annette for very long, but he can tell she’s just _good,_ she’s _genuinely good,_ and he knows whatever he’d done to make the literal human embodiment of sunshine angry couldn’t have been anything great.

He still hasn’t figured it out by the time Professor Byleth calls it a day, and he tries to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach when her gaze flits over him again. His classmates all make their way out of the hall, but a hand grabs his arm before he can follow them, and he’s whirled around to come face-to-face with a still unusually angry Annette.

“ _What_ is your _deal,_ ” she hisses, “Why do you keep _doing that?!_ ”

He blinks at her. “Doing what?”

She throws her hands down in frustration. “Ugh, you know exactly what I’m talking about! That-that _thing_ you do where you pretend you have no idea what you’re doing when I _know_ that you do-is it me? Do you think I’m not capable of actually beating you or something? Because this is the-”

“What?!” he sputters. “No, it-I know you’re a good fighter, Annette. Why would you think that?”

She stares at him incredulously before pointing a finger at her ear.

“Sylvain,” she deadpans, “I’m deaf.”

Oh.

_Oh._

_Oh shit._

“My entire life has been _filled_ with people thinking I can’t do things simply because I can’t hear,” she continues, “so _forgive me_ for being upset when it looks like someone who’s supposed to be one of my friends is doing the same thing.”

Yeah, okay, he really managed to fuck up. This could definitely make it to the top 10 on his personal list.

“It’s-it’s honestly nothing like that, Annette,” he says hurriedly. “It’s more of a thing with myself than anything else, so I’m sorry I made you feel like I was doing it because of you. You are _genuinely_ a good fighter. I really do think that. Seriously.”

She stares at him for a moment before sighing. “I just-I just don’t get _why_. Why would you _want_ people to think you’re not as smart as you are?”

He shrugs, because they’re starting to get into a particular can of worms that he really doesn’t feel like opening at the moment. “You know that thing you said before, about wanting to change what people first see when they look at you? It’s like that. We’re just...trying to change different things.”

Annette frowns at him. “I guess, but still...you shouldn’t be overcompensating so much. I mean, I’m guilty of doing that too, but-come on Sylvain, you told me you couldn’t _read_ when I asked you a question about the homework.”

 _Huh_. That was a thing that he’d done.

“I think you can afford to actually work at your best sometimes. Especially when you’re fighting me! I hate seeing you barely try-how am I supposed to know if I’m actually any good or not, or improve at all? We’re all your friends, Sylvain, there shouldn’t be as much to prove-or, I guess, _not prove_ to us. You’re a smart guy, as much as you try to hide it, and you shouldn’t be so worried about some people seeing that.”

She’s so genuinely good. There’s nothing Sylvain knows about her that would suggest otherwise. But he still has to check. He hates that he still has to check.

“...How do you know?”

She cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

“How do you know what my best looks like? Or that I’m not at it?”

Annette smirks. “I don’t. Because you haven’t shown it yet. But I do know that intentionally doing something wrong means that you at least know how to do it _right_.” Her smile softens. “I care about you Sylvain, we’re friends! I like seeing my friends succeed, and I like when we get to show off our successes to each other in a good match. _That’s_ why I want to see you at your best, not because I’m holding some huge end-all-be-all standard over your head.”

Goddess, he doesn’t deserve her. He really doesn’t deserve her.

“...Thanks, Annette,” he says, because he doesn’t even know what to say to all of _that_.

She grins. “Don’t thank me, silly!” She offers him a hand. “Spar with me! For _real_ this time. No going easy on me, okay?”

He smiles back at her. “Yeah, okay. Okay.”

It isn’t until later, when they’re both sat on the floor, thoroughly exhausted, that the idea comes to him.

“Hey, Annette?”

She only hums in response, still slightly out of breath.

“Do you know sign language?”

She nods. “Yeah, but-oh!” she perks up immediately. “Do you wanna learn?! I can totally teach you! There should be some books we can use in the library-if not I bet Mercie still has some of the ones I gave her when she started learning!”

He grins at her enthusiasm. “Yeah, that’d be great, Annette.”

He really hopes that Christophe and Glenn are as good at learning an entire language by proxy as Maia is.

* * *

Sylvain knows it’s coming.

He’d been repeating to himself that it was coming the entire trek over.

That doesn’t make it any easier.

He sees Felix cut down a bandit, sees the man’s ghost rise and whirl around in confusion, the gash down his side spidering up and down frantically before he turns and whizzes away, and forces down the bile threatening to rise in his throat.

_One._

He sees Ashe shoot one in the chest, and tries to focus on the spot that would have been filled by his classmate’s ghost instead of the space that is currently being occupied by the bandit’s.

 _Two_.

He sees Mercedes’ quiet prayers for them to rest in peace, and wishes that he didn’t have physical proof that that wasn’t always the case.

_Three. Four._

He sees Annette’s excitement at the confirmation of her own skills, and tries to ignore the wails of the dead man behind her.

_Five._

He sees Ingrid and Dedue quickly steel themselves, and wishes he could do the same.

_Six. Seven. Eight. Nine._

He sees Dimitri, sees the swirl of the newly dead around him, and tries to not think about the fact that Lambert never returned.

_Ten. Eleven. Twelve._

He sees Professor Byleth, swooping in when his classmates can’t and swiftly adding another number to the count like it’s nothing. Sylvain tries to convince himself that it is.

_Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen._

He drives his lance with unsteady hands into the stomach of the bandit in front of him and forces himself to look at the man’s face, to sear his features into his brain, because he feels like he owes the man at least that much. The wave of desperation and anguish from the ghost slams into him at full force, and it’s all he can do to not throw up on the spot.

“...I had to do it,” he says quietly, his voice shaking. “Don’t hate me, please.”

_Sixteen._

He barely registers the ghost of the bandit leader roaring as his ghost rises, cursing out some ‘red bastard’ as he flits away, and he collapses into bed as soon as they get back to the monastery, though his dreams are filled with far more figures than usual that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah holst is dead in this SORRY 
> 
> sylvain's first death quote though...aha  
> (the things he observes in that scene are actually all based on their first death quotes so! that's a fun little fact)
> 
> sylvain actually has a victory quote post ts where he says "don't bother haunting" which i completely forgot about until i heard him say it in-game a couple days ago so thank you for slightly validating my au sylvain
> 
> also i love annette. i love annette so much.
> 
> next time: lonato :D


	5. Chapter 5

There have been many times throughout the past four years that Christophe has wished his brother could see him.

This is not one of those times.

He grabs at the wound steadily appearing on his neck, his head pounding, and tries to quell the surge of emotions rapidly swelling around him. 

He knows that Ashe is hurting too, and wants to stay with his brother, but he knows that he’s only going to make everything worse in his current state-so he tears himself away, fleeing down the halls.

Lonato had started a rebellion.

They were being sent to take care of it.

 _Ashe_ was being sent to take care of it.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. How could she-how could he-how could any of them _do_ this?

Was this all because of him? Had his father willingly placed himself and his followers in the line of fire because of what had happened to him?

Ashe was still his son. Why did both of them keep-they’re both still _here,_ for fuck’s sake, they shouldn’t keep throwing themselves into situations like this on his behalf-he was _fine._ But Ashe-what was his father _thinking,_ he was just going to-

“Of course, Lady Rhea.”

He belatedly realizes he’s made his way to the second floor, right in front of the-

“Yes, you have my word. Thank you.”

That voice.

No.

_No._

He can’t do this. Not right now.

He hears the voice of his old best friend, watches the woman who sent him to his death step into the hallway, and feels his emotions swell into a screeching cacophony around him as his vision goes dark.

* * *

“Did you hear that?”

Felix frowns. “Hear what?”

They’re sitting in the Dining Hall after a short sparring session. Catherine had walked in, looking slightly frazzled, and passed by their table. Sylvain could have sworn he’d heard someone speak in his ear, but it hadn’t sounded like Catherine’s voice, and-

There.

There it was again. Someone had definitely spoken, but he hadn’t been able to make out any of the words, and it had sort of sounded like multiple people speaking at once. He turns around, trying to spot another person or ghost that could have spoken to him, but the hall is practically empty, save for-Catherine, who’s currently talking to Shamir.

And her...sword. 

He hears the voices again, still just as indecipherable as before, and the red stone embedded in the weapon’s center pulses along with the sounds, almost like it’s...

No way. This is pushing into weird territory, even for him.

“You hear it too, huh?” Glenn says, and Sylvain sighs.

He gets up, ignoring the weird look Felix gives him, and makes his way to where the two are standing, trying to not make it look like he’s blatantly attempting to listen in to their conversation. Catherine’s hurriedly talking about some wind on the second floor (Sylvain files that information away in his brain for later), and Shamir is responding with her usual drawl, but he can still hear the voices, which means that-

Okay. Catherine has a talking sword. It’s ghost related, somehow, because of course it is. Alright.

He awkwardly makes his way back to his table, and Felix looks at him like he’s just sprouted another head.

“What the fuck did you do that for?”

Ah. He did just walk to the end of the dining hall and back for seemingly no reason. People who can’t hear strange talking swords from across the room don’t usually do that. He slides back onto the bench, and the words tumble out of his mouth before he can think of better ones. 

“Thought I saw a woman walking by. I’m not one to let a good chance pass me by, you know!”

Felix rolls his eyes.

* * *

“- _tophe? Hey, can you hear me?”_

“ _His head is back. That’s probably a good sign.”_

“ _Christophe!”_

Christophe jolts, and immediately winces at the throbbing pain in his neck. Sylvain is in front of him, his brown eyes wide with concern as he grips Christophe’s arms, and Glenn is staring at him from the side. There are red scratches on Sylvain’s arms.

“...You okay, man? You were kinda...out of it for a bit.”

He gives a small nod, not wanting to jostle his head too much. “I-” his throat is scratchy, and he tries to clear it before speaking again, “-I think so. What happened?”

Sylvain winces. “I think the new assignment kind of freaked you out a bit. It happens to ghosts sometimes-you’re all sort of a...manifestation of emotions, I guess, so when they start to become-you know, a lot, your body just sort of. Reflects that. Catherine looked pretty spooked in the dining hall when she was babbling to Shamir about the ‘wind’ on the second floor, so Glenn and I went to go check if it was you.”

His neck twinges painfully at the mention of her name, and his eyes flit over to the scratches lining Sylvain’s arms.

“Ah shit, sorry about your arms. It usually doesn’t get this bad.”

Sylvain shrugs. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I get it.” He releases his grip on Christophe. “I can’t believe Lady Rhea’s having us deal with this.”

Christophe snorts. “I can.” He shakes his head, the pain in his neck having gone down. “But I’m more worried about Ashe, honestly. Our dad is all he has left-and that’s more important than anything having to do with me, if dad’s doing all this for the reason I think he is. I mean-I’m dead. I have all the time in the world! They don’t. _‘Avenge’_ me by being there for the son you still have, not by throwing yourself into some- _suicide mission_ and dragging everyone else with you under the use of my name-ugh.”

He trails off, and the room settles into silence.

“I’ll keep checking up on Ashe,” Sylvain says, after a moment. “If there’s anything you want me to do that you can’t, just. You know, ask.” He attempts a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And hey, who knows? Maybe the Church’ll go easy on ‘em.”

* * *

The Church, decidedly, does not go easy on them.

The fog surrounding their group makes it harder to see the ghosts, but he can hear them, and he isn’t sure if that makes it better or worse.

They’re louder than the bandits, these ghosts. They’re civilians. They cry for their children, scream for their spouses, and claw at Sylvain’s legs as he walks near them with a lump in his throat, weeping for the life they’d left behind.

He’s been staying close to Ashe this whole time, but the other boy has yet to say a word. The look on his face makes Sylvain think that the reality of the situation hasn’t set in for him yet, but Sylvain doesn’t blame him. He could also be preventing himself from letting the situation sink in until the fight is over, which Sylvain doesn’t blame him for either. Some ghosts try to approach Christophe, but the expression on his face makes them fall back once they get close enough to see it. Sylvain thinks he hears some of them apologize to Ashe.

Something cold grips his arm as a woman with a hole in her chest runs up to him, gesturing wildly in an attempt to get his attention that would have been pointless if she’d chosen to run up to anyone else.

“ _Please-don’t let him get any closer!”_ Her voice is slightly distorted, but urgent. “ _She’s going to-please don’t let him see!”_

Christophe turns at the sound of her voice, his eyes widening, and Sylvain hurriedly reaches out for Ashe as he moves ahead-but it’s too late.

The fog around them clears, and-there, at the edge of the clearing, are Catherine and Lonato. Catherine has her sword with her, the red stone set in its center pulsing dangerously.

Ashe freezes, staring up in horror at Lonato and Catherine as they stand off. The field has grown silent around them. The ghosts are watching. Waiting.

“Lonato-Lonato _please_ !” Ashe yells, his tone desperate. “You can stop this-You _have to stop this_ ! There has to be another way, please, you can’t-they’ll _kill you!”_

Lonato doesn’t look at him.

“I am doing what needs to be done, Ashe.” he says, and his voice is hard. Angry. “These people killed my son, and I will make Archbishop Rhea _pay_ for what she has done, regardless of whether it is done in my life,” he turns to where they’re standing, though his eyes aren’t focused on Ashe, “...or my death.”

There’s a sharp inhale from Christophe, and Ashe is still screaming to his adoptive father, but he’s drowned out when Catherine raises her sword, and the voices _increase._ They swell, sounding both eager and frantic, only getting louder and louder as Catherine brings her weapon down on her opponent. As Lonato’s body falls and his ghost rises, they descend into screams-Sylvain has to resist the urge to clamp his hands over his ears-but Lonato’s ghost only manages to lock eyes with Christophe for a moment before he’s screaming in agony, clutching at the transparent wound in his stomach. The red stone in the sword pulses dangerously bright, and then Lonato’s ghost is gone, disappearing in a flash of red the same color as the gem. His final shouts blend with the sword’s for a moment before the voices settle down again, returning to that same muttering from before.

Sylvain feels like he’s going to be sick. He doesn’t want to chance a look at how Christophe’s doing. Ashe is shaking in front of him.

None of them move as the knights begin to cheer around them.

(“Ashe wasn’t the only person I managed to make believe in ghosts,” Christophe says hollowly later, as they sit on the third-floor balcony with Glenn and Maia. “When he died, he wasn’t-he wasn’t looking for Ashe. He was looking for _me_.”)

* * *

Christophe comes to visit him a couple nights later.

Neither of them say anything at first, and Sylvain lets Christophe sit on the end of his bed as he stares up at the ceiling.

“...How are you holding up?” Sylvain asks eventually. Christophe sighs.

“Well, my head’s still here,” he says quietly, and trails off into another few minutes of silence before he speaks again.

“It’s...it’s weird, you know. I don’t-I don’t know if I would have wanted him to be here, with Ashe. Obviously I wouldn’t have wanted any of this to happen, but he-the way I think he saw all of this, it was so _wrong._ You don’t just throw your life away because you’re confident you’ll be able to pick right back up where you left off once you’re dead. Being a ghost isn’t just some slightly altered way of living. You’re _dead._ You can’t _do anything._ Ashe wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t know if he would have stayed. He chose his dead son over his living one, and he-he was trying to look for _me_ . To make sure I was watching. He thought I’d be _proud_ that he’d done all of this for me-as if I’d be happy with him doing that to my brother. His _son._ ”

There’s another long stretch of silence.

Christophe sighs again. “I’m...alright, though. I’ve been better, obviously, but I’m. Alright. I’m more worried about Ashe, because I’m always more worried about Ashe, but I am glad he’s here with his friends instead of at home with our younger siblings-he tries too hard to be strong for them, sometimes.” He snorts softly. “Did you know Rhea had Professor Byleth give Ashe ‘ _fortifying herbs’?”_

Sylvain shoots up in his bed. “She didn’t _._ ”

There’s a small smile on Christophe’s face. “She did. Byleth was so awkward about it too. She invited Ashe to have tea with her, though.”

“ _Tea?_ ”

Sylvain cannot imagine the professor actually sitting down and having tea with someone.

Christophe shrugs. “Apparently it’s her thing. Ashe seemed to have a good time.”

“What did they-what did they even talk about?” Professor Byleth isn’t exactly known for her stellar conversational skills.

“Cats.”

“ _Cats._ ”

“Cats,” Christophe says simply. 

“Huh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time: the professor gets a new sword, and sylvain gets even more things to worry about on the battlefield! love that for him
> 
> i've been having major writer's block with the part i'm writing rn and it keeps clearing at like 6am so that's been fun aha <3 but anyways thank you for reading!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realized after writing this that you get the next mission immediately after finishing the current one so let's just. ignore that for a sec thank you

Sylvain’s body does this...thing.

Whenever they’re in a battle, and he spots one of his classmates about to be caught off guard by an attack, his body just-moves, and he makes sure he’s there to handle the full force of anything that may have been coming their way.

Felix looks like he wants to strangle him every time he does it, and he’s pretty sure Manuela’s going to start charging him for any future infirmary visits if he keeps them this frequent, but he doesn’t mind-he can take it, and he doesn’t like thinking about what may happen if he isn’t fast enough one day.

He doesn’t want them to find out that way. He never wants anyone to find out that way. The idea of having to talk to any of his classmates like _that_ makes him feel sick. He also doesn’t think they’d enjoy having him as the only person they’d still be able to communicate with. He wouldn’t exactly be his first choice either.

So, he runs to them, letting the ghosts guide and warn him as he goes.

Or, at least, he’s trying to, but he’s currently stopped dead in his tracks, unable to move, unable to _think,_ because in front of him-

It’s Felix. It’s Felix’s _ghost._

He vaguely registers that something must be wrong, because the ghost almost looks to be frozen, his face completely blank-but all his eyes can focus on are the barrage of arrows littering his body, the blood trailing out of his mouth, and-oh goddess, he hadn’t been careful enough, he’d _missed him_ , and now he’d have to-

Felix bursts into the clearing, and Sylvain’s brain short circuits. Felix only glares at him.

“The fuck are you just standing there for?!”

He was-he wasn’t- _what the fuck?_

There’s a sharp yelp from behind them, and Sylvain turns to see Professor Byleth firing a spell at an archer hiding behind a tree, her gaze furious. She turns to look at them, breathing heavily, and deep, cerratted cuts flicker in and out of view on her arms. Her eyes are bright green.

“Are you both alright?” she asks, and that strange higher tone is woven into her voice again.

Sylvain nods stiffly, because that’s all he’s really able to do at the moment.

She glances around. “Please keep an eye on the trees,” she says, and runs off.

Felix turns on him. “Idiot,” he says, “You could have been killed if you kept standing still like that.”

Right. Could’ve.

He glances back behind him to see that Felix’s ghost is gone, but he can’t get the image out of his head. He knows what he saw. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget what he saw.

Felix seems to notice his lack of a response and his brows furrow. “Sylvain?” he says slowly. Seriously, what the hell-we need to keep moving.”

Sylvain blinks and turns back to his friend, forcing himself to not jump at the bloodstains that cover Felix’s face briefly before vanishing.

“R-right,” he says weakly, “sorry. I just...got caught up in my own thoughts, I guess. Heh.”

Felix rolls his eyes and moves forward past him, though the expression on his face hasn’t changed.

His brain helpfully supplies him with a fresh new brand of dreams that night, and he mentally apologizes to Dimitri next door as he stumbles out of bed to throw up for the third time.

* * *

“Wait, sorry-what was that one you just did?”

“Hm?”

They’re sitting on the grass in the courtyard for a sign lesson-Annette had looked a bit confused at Sylvain’s complete refusal to practice in the library, but she didn’t mind being outside, and had agreed anyway. Sylvain, on the other hand, was _not_ used to sitting directly in the hot sun for extended periods of time, and he’s pretty sure the heat is starting to get to his brain. Glenn had said that ghosts did feel some sort of heat, but that had to be a big fat lie, because the three that are currently learning along with him all look completely unaffected.

He’s picking up the language fairly quickly, all things considered, and while Annette is a good teacher she does have the tendency to start signing as quickly as she speaks without realizing it sometimes.

Like right now.

“That-that one you just did. The two-fingered one. I didn’t recognize it.”

Annette sits up a bit. “Oh! Sorry-it’s what I call His Highness, since that’s kind of a handful to fingerspell.” She does the sign again, touching two fingers from her shoulder to her waist. “It means ‘Prince’. I try to sign with Mercie whenever I can, and since everyone’s names are so long I came up with other ways to say them!”

She giggles, and puts her hand in a fist before making a swooping s-shape.

“That’s Felix’s. It’s just ‘sword’.”

Sylvain snorts. “Perfect. What’s mine.”

She giggles again, wiggling her fingers as she pulls her hands in and out. “Flirt.”

He rolls his eyes, ignoring Christophe’s laugh from beside him. “Yeah, okay, should have figured that. Is Professor Byleth just-” he touches his fingers together and brings both hands away and down from his head, the sign for ‘professor, “-or is it different for each of the teachers?”

She smiles. “Oooh, great question! I’ve just been saying “Professor” to you so you didn’t get confused-but Professor Byleth is ‘Professor’ and ‘Fish’.” She signs “Professor” and wiggles her right hand back and forth.

“Fish?”

She nods. “Yeah, she likes fishing. I saw her sitting at the docks one morning, and when I was going back to my room later that night she was still there! I don’t know how she can sit in one place like that for that long.”

“The more I learn about this woman the more I am convinced she is simply not real,” Maia mutters, and Sylvain suppresses a grin.

“Professor Hanneman is ‘Professor’ and ‘Mustache’,” Annette continues, signing “Professor” and putting her thumb and index finger together near her lips and opening them so they frame her chin. “Professor Manuela-” she grins, “-Professor Manuela is ‘Professor’ and ‘Messy’. I came up with that one after Professor Hanneman ranted for ten minutes about some sandwich she was eating instead of starting our class.” She signs “Professor” and puts a closed fist under her chin before spreading out her fingers. “And Professor Jeritza is ‘Professor’ and ‘Mask’. They’re kind of handfuls to sign every time, but I feel bad not putting the honorific there!”

He frowns. “Wait, who? That last Professor. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.”

“Oh, Professor Jeritza? Yeah, he’s not around a lot-he teaches armed combat training, I think? I only know who he is ‘cause Mercie was talking about him for a bit. He’s kind of a scary guy, to be honest.”

That last part wasn’t very surprising at this point. Where was the Church _finding_ these people?

Annette jolts suddenly, like she’d just remembered something. “Oh-shoot! I’m supposed to be cooking today with Ashe-great job today though, Sylvain! You’re actually really good at this.”

He grins at her. “What can I say? I learn from the best.”

She reddens, and smacks him lightly on the arm. “Ah, stop being so sincere! I’m not used to it.” She stands up, brushing her skirt off. “Okay. I do really have to go, though. See you later, Sylvain!”

He waves to her, but she’s already sprinting off towards the dining hall, throwing a hand behind her in an attempt at a wave goodbye. He lowers his hand.

“Christophe,” he signs, “I am scared for your brother.”

Christophe narrows his eyes for a moment before grinning. “Oh, hey! I understood that!” He frowns suddenly. “Wait, what is that supposed to mean?”

Maia snorts. “She’s a horrible cook. You should hear some of the horror stories Dedue tells Dimitri-not that that kid is any better, to be honest.” She elbows Christophe in the side, and he yelps. “At least I can confidently call you an idiot in three languages now, though. Life is good.”

“Not to interrupt this high moment of your life,” Glenn says lowly, raising a hand to point to something behind Sylvain, “but who the hell is _that._ ”

Sylvain turns to look where he’s pointing, and-oh, holy _shit_.

The man walking at the other end of the courtyard has possibly more ghosts than _Dedue_ , but he can immediately tell that the relationship between this man and his ghosts is nothing like the one Dedue’s have with him.

Their fatal wounds are all very prevalent, and look _brutal,_ with many of them sporting multiple gaping bloody holes in their bodies. They’re all tense, watching the man like they expect him to snap at any moment-and some of them are clearly looking for _something,_ eyes wide with desperation and anger as they stay fixed on the man in front of them.

Sylvain’s heart is in his throat. “Did he...did he kill all of those people?”

One of the ghosts seems to notice them staring and runs over to them, gripping at Sylvain’s arm with the one hand she has left.

“It’s not safe here!” she shrieks, and the wounds on her body begin to grow worse, “He’s going to do something-but he doesn’t know! He won’t remember, he _never remembers-_ but he was talking with that red man, and then _he_ was there, and he’s going to-he has to _remember!_ ” She seems to sense the man moving away and gasps, turning her head frantically back and forth from their group to the other ghosts. “I’m sorry, I have to-I need to see when he-please be careful!”

She leaves as quickly as she had come, and it’s at this point that Sylvain notices the large mask covering the man’s face.

 _“Kind of a scary guy” is a bit of an understatement, Annette,_ he thinks, and groans internally. 

“...Well,” he says quietly, after a moment, “We know who Professor Jeritza is now.”

He really needs to see the criteria Rhea is asking for on these job applications.

* * *

They’re in the Holy Mausoleum. Christophe had been right at his guess that any potential intruders would make that their primary target, so Sylvain had relayed as much to Dimitri so they could discuss it as a group with the Professor. He was surprised Dimitri had believed him so easily, but he suspected the other had just made a similar deduction.

When the guy calling himself the ‘Death Knight’ had shown up, Sylvain had practically choked, because-yeah, that was almost definitely Professor Jeritza based on the ghosts swarming the man, and wasn’t that just a fun little piece of information he now had to deal with.

He’s had to drag Felix away from fighting the guy a good five times, decidedly _not_ thinking about the ghost of his friend that had briefly appeared in front of where the knight stood, because there’s absolutely no way that that would end well, despite the other’s protests.

He isn’t succeeding very well, but hey, water under the bridge. Felix is still breathing next to him. It’s fine.

He’s about to sign a quick “Guys in front of you are fast, watch out” to Annette when an _ear-splitting_ screech echoes throughout the walls and Sylvain falls to his knees in pain, clutching at his head. He’s never heard a scream like that before, something that sounds so _pained_ and _tortured,_ and he desperately tries to block out the sound with his hands to little avail. He belatedly registers his classmates yelling at him, but it only makes everything worse, and he’s grateful to Annette when he manages to make out a hurried “Are you okay?!” in sign.

He opens his mouth to respond and immediately retches before his vision goes dark.

  
  


* * *

  
  


...Okay. So.

Professor Byleth’s new sword screams, because of course it does.

It’s also a ghost-related thing, because of course it is.

It hasn’t been as bad as it had been when she’d first pulled it out of that coffin, but he still needs to figure out a way to warn any of the poor (literal) souls that happen to walk near it in advance in case it decides to go into another wonderful round of screaming.

Because it does.

A lot.

It’d gotten particularly bad when they’d met back up with Rhea and the other Church members, and the look Seteth had given him told him that his gritted teeth and stiff posture hadn’t been as subtle as he’d thought, so that was great. The other man definitely disliked him more now than he probably already did, but at least the woman behind him had looked a little sympathetic. He’s still refraining from thinking too hard about her.

He feels sorry for Christophe, because Ashe’s room is positioned directly next to the Professor’s and the ghost has been coming to his room repeatedly to seek solace from the frequent bouts of screaming every night. He’d managed to convince the Professor to not take it to class with her, but he’s not so sure she’ll be willing to leave it during battles, so he hopes the sword doesn’t mind fighting too much. He really doesn’t want to deal with the screaming on _top_ of the not-ghosts, trying to keep an eye on everyone, and whatever the hell happens to Professor Byleth sometimes. The not-ghosts on their own are already enough.

Annette had unknowingly given him a lovely out to use during one of their sign lessons when she’d mentioned getting an occasional ringing in her ears, so he’d relayed something similar to Manuela in the infirmary when she’d asked what had happened. She didn’t look like she’d completely bought it, but it wasn’t like she was going to believe “The professor’s sword violently screams and only I can hear it because it’s somehow related to the dead, did I mention I can see ghosts?” any more than what he’d told her. Annette had looked a little excited at the knowledge that someone else was experiencing something she’d been dealing with, which made him feel slightly bad for lying to her, but he also essentially lies to everyone the moment he meets them, so, oh well.

He decides to make a list of everything ghost-related he’s learned, because there’s a whole lot of it, and he likes being able to organize things into some kind of fashion.

So. 

1\. The librarian is a dead man, and yet also not.

2\. Professor Byleth is dead, and yet also not. She might be possessed by a small child occasionally. It is unclear.

3\. Frozen dead versions of my classmates appear momentarily during battles. I now have proof that yes, my sleeping schedule _can_ in fact get worse.

4\. Professor Jeritza is a serial killer. To quote a hysterical ghost, he “never remembers”, and is working with a ‘red man’. Based on Rhea’s track record, he’s probably a faculty member. 

5\. Catherine has a talking sword.

6\. The talking sword can kill ghosts, somehow.

7\. The Professor has a screaming sword. I can hear it from here, actually. Lovely. 

8\. Both of these swords are Heroes’ Relics. Glenn’s nerd brain told me that Professor Byleth’s is the ‘Sword of the Creator’, which belonged to Nemesis. (Note: Do not ask Glenn about Nemesis lore unless you want to mentally check out for 20 minutes.)

9\. Heroes’ Relics are somehow related to ghosts. Given that I can hear them speak, the voices I’m hearing are possibly the voices of the dead. A wonderful thought to think about.

  
  


He looks up from the list.

Oh, right. He’s supposed to inherit a relic, isn’t he.

Shit. 

* * *

Christophe hadn’t been lying about Professor Byleth’s interest in tea. Sylvain wasn’t entirely sure how he’d found himself sipping some incredibly expensive blend at seven in the morning with one of the strangest people he’d ever met, but here he was. 

(It really is an expensive tea. He feels sort of bad that she'd gone out of her way like this for him, and he hopes it wasn’t too much of a hassle to get.)

She’d gone up to him practically as soon as he’d woken up, saying she’d had something she needed to discuss with him, but the look on her face had been uneasy. Apprehensive. It was a strange expression to see on her (though any expression at all was a rarity in and of itself), and it was making him slightly uneasy.

Professor Byleth sets down her cup.

“Ah...first off,” she says, “I thought I would ask.” She fixes her gaze on him, and he thinks he can make out a hint of concern in her features. “Are you alright, Sylvain? Dimitri told me you haven’t been sleeping very well. The infirmary has some herbs that can help with that, if you would like me to put in the request to Manuela.”

Sylvain chokes on his tea.

(“Oh, Sylvain!” Dimitri says, jogging to catch up with him before he enters the dining hall. “I’ve been meaning to talk with you.”

He gives him a sheepish look. “I don’t mean to invade your privacy, but our rooms are right next to each other, and-do you, ah, regularly talk in your sleep?”

There’s an underlying question in his face, but Sylvain is too tired to be able to tell what it is. His sleep-addled brain also takes a few moments to fully process the words that Dimitri has just spoken to him, and his eyes widen.

Christophe’s been visiting him more than usual. They’re both alright at communicating in sign, but they don’t know nearly enough to carry an entire conversation that lasts for hours each night. _Shit._

Is it possible to murder a semi-satient dead sword? Maybe their corpse librarian would know.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Ah, yeah, sorry Your Highness. I haven’t done it in awhile, guess being in a new place is making my old habits come back again, hah."

Dimitri frowns. He looks...slightly disappointed, almost? Sylvain’s too tired for this. 

“Oh, well-I have some herbs I use to help with sleep, you’re welcome to use them if you’d like!”

“S-sure, Your Highness. Thanks.”

He wishes he has a problem with talking in his sleep. At least then he’d actually be _sleeping.)_

Sylvain waves a hand at the Professor.

“It’s really not a big deal, I’m fine. He just worries a lot.”

She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he also had spent a good minute coughing out the tea he’d sent into his windpipe, so he didn’t exactly present the most compelling case.

She sighs. “If you’re sure.”

There’s a moment of silence as she looks away, seemingly trying to figure out how to phrase her next sentence. Clearing her throat, she turns her gaze back to him, and that slight hint of apprehension is back on her face. A knot twists itself in his stomach.

“Sylvain,” she says, almost carefully, “I have received this month’s mission from Lady Rhea. I...thought I would tell you first, before I told the rest of your class.”

The knot tightens.

He doesn’t like where this is going.

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard already, but a Heroes’ Relic has been stolen. It belonged to your family.”

He stills.

No.

“Lady Rhea believes the culprits to be a notorious group of thieves from Faerghus.”

_No._

He only manages to hear Professor Byleth say the words “Your brother, Miklan,” before his head starts spinning, and the only thing he can focus on is the steady panic building in his chest and the nausea creeping up his spine.

It’s been so long. He’s made it so long.

_No one would ever know._

He wasn’t ready. Not yet. He couldn’t let it start now-he _couldn’t_.

_No one would ever be able to know._

He thinks of his friends-Felix, Dimitri, Ingrid, his classmates-they’d think he was insane, he’d just have to _sit there_ and-

_You know what happens when you tell._

“We can’t kill him!” he chokes out, a bit too loudly, and winces when he sees Professor Byleth look slightly taken aback. Shit. She isn’t supposed to see him like this.

“Please Professor, we can’t-come on, he’s my brother. He’s family. Please,” he says, a little quieter this time, though his voice still shakes slightly as he forces the words out. They taste like bile on his tongue.

She stares at him for a moment.

“It may not be entirely my decision to make,” she says slowly, “but I will see what I can do.”

Sylvain doesn’t show up to class that day.

He’s not sure where the rumor that he’d gone into town for a girl had come from, but he takes an out when he can get one, so he makes sure to confirm it later to anyone who asks with a wink and a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used ASL as the reference for annette's lesson since i wanted to describe everything! i know technically that is not what they would be using but i unfortunately do not have the resources to access fodlan sign language
> 
> next time: miklan :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Sylvain has always been a fan of keeping things straight and orderly.

The boxes in his brain are packaged tightly with the thoughts and feelings he’s managed to sort, arranged in a way that leaves him knowing exactly where and what they are without ever having to dwell on it for too long or really dig in to see exactly what they contain.

The box labelled “Miklan Gautier” has been shoved to the back of his mind for years, because each time he tries to figure out what it should contain he’s either never satisfied with the results or finds things he never intended to include worming their way into its contents.

He hates his brother. 

He wishes his brother could act more like, well, his _brother._

He wants his brother to leave him alone and never talk to him again. 

He thinks his parent’s treatment of his brother was partly his fault. 

His brother always blamed him for things he couldn’t control.

Would his brother have been the brother he wanted if he didn’t have his crest? If he didn’t tell?

He hates his brother.

His brother tried to kill him. 

He can understand why his brother wanted to kill him. 

His brother is a bandit now, terrorizing villages. Sylvain couldn’t have endured a few more years?

He is the reason his brother is no longer welcome in his own home.

His brother still wants to kill him.

His brother is just angry, isn’t he? Would he have stayed angry if Sylvain had kept protecting him?

His brother threw him down the well and left him to die on the mountain.

His brother deserves to die, but he doesn’t deserve to be killed.

 _Why_ doesn’t he deserve to be killed? Is it only because Sylvain is too scared to see what he’ll do when he’s dead?

He hates his brother. He _hates_ his-

“Sylvain?”

Sylvain jolts, and comes face-to-face with a concerned looking Annette.

_Shit._

They’d been having a lesson entirely in sign, and the silence had allowed his mind to wander and his brain to slip. He hadn’t meant to zone out on Annette, he really hadn’t, but he-

“...Are you alright?” Annette asks, and immediately winces. “Sorry. Dumb question.”

He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Nah, hey, I’m fine! Sorry for zoning out a bit there, heh. I’m just a bit tired.”

The look on her face tells him that that decidedly had not worked-and he’s not even sure why he tried, honestly, since she’s been consistently good at spotting when he’s sliding his mask on. She sighs. “Look, Sylvain, if you don’t wanna talk to me about it, that’s totally fine, but I think you should, you know, at least talk to _someone_ about how you’re feeling. Ranting out loud to myself always seems to help-I think at least vocalizing your feelings is better than letting them twist around silently in your head, you know?” Annette brightens. “Oh, I know!” She gestures around at the empty third floor balcony. “There’s no one but us up here, right? I’ll take out my aids so I can’t hear you, and you can just...let it all out! At least then I can sort of tell how you’re feeling emotionally without you having to tell me everything if you don’t want to.”

Sylvain opens his mouth to agree, but his eyes remind him that Maia Christophe and Glenn are sitting beside her, and his throat closes at the mere thought of trying to vocalize any of the clutter he’s been accumulating for years.

He shakes his head. “I’m, uh...I’m not sure if I’d even know what to say. It’s a...complicated situation.”

Annette nods in understanding. “Yeah, I get that. Life isn’t all black and white, you know?” She looks away from him for a moment, clearly trying to form her next words. She turns back to him. “...You’ve seen that new knight around, right? The one set to help us on the mission?”

Sylvain nods, not entirely sure where she’s going with this.

“That’s, ah-that’s my father.”

“...Oh.”

She seems to sense his confusion and gives a small smile. “He left my mother and I about four years ago, right before I went to that sorcery school. Neither of us know why, he just-left. I’ve been looking for him ever since, and I was _so_ excited to see him again, but he...he hasn’t even acknowledged me.” She chuckles, but there’s no humor behind it. “To be completely honest, I think he’s completely ignoring me.”

Annette goes quiet for a moment.

“...In the years he was gone, I was never sure if I was angry at him, desperately missing him and wishing he would come back, or only wanting to see him again so I could show him everything he’d left behind. Sometimes it was one of those. Sometimes it was all of them at the same time.” She looks at him again. “From what I know about Miklan, he’s...not a super great guy, right? But he’s still your brother. You want to be mad at him for what he’s done, but you also want him to be your brother again.”

 _I’m not sure if Miklan ever really was my brother in the first place,_ Sylvain thinks, but he pushes that particular thought down.

“That’s...that’s just how it is sometimes, you know?” Annette continues. “When the people we’re most angry at are the ones we want to forgive the most.”

There's a beat of silence before her face reddens, and she raises her hands in defense. “Ah-did any of that make sense? I wasn’t trying to like, complain about my situation too much or anything!”

Sylvain shakes his head. “No, I get what you were trying to say. Thanks, Annette.” He sighs. “It’s just, ah-my brother and I...never really got along that well, you know? You’re right-he’s not a very great guy. You can say he deserves to die, but once he’s dead-” he swallows “-there’s no real going back. That’s it.”

Annette studies him for a moment, a sad smile on her face, before she groans and flops onto her back on the cool stone of the balcony. 

“Ugh, look at us-both chasing after things we’re probably never gonna get, huh?”

He joins her on the floor, squinting at the bright sunlight shining in his eyes.

“...Yeah. I guess we are.”

“Professor Byleth said she was gonna try to convince the knights to leave him alive,” she says, and then leans up on her hands to look at him sharply. “But Sylvain-whatever Miklan does after that is entirely him, okay? You already made your move.”

“Okay,” Sylvain says, and decides to ignore the feeling of Glenn’s eyes on him.

* * *

Dedue likes to cook.

He’s good at it, for starters, and he likes the comfortable feeling of familiarity he settles into once his hands begin to slip into the motions of chopping vegetables and stirring broths.

If he lets his mind wander enough, he can almost imagine that he’s still back in his home, listening to his sister talk amicably about her day while they prepare food together.

Almost. 

He’s been given evening cooking duty today, and though the staff don’t explicitly say why, he’s fairly sure that part of the reasoning behind the decision is so there are less people around to notice who is making their food.

He’d tried cooking during breakfast, once. It hadn’t gone over very well.

He knows his sister would kick him with how complacent he’s been with...everything, but Maia had always been louder than him. He doesn’t see the point in potentially giving people even more of a reason to dislike him.

He checks the list the head chef had given him again.

Okay. He’ll need noa fruit, cheese, some poultry, and-

“Hey Dedue!”

Dedue startles, and turns to see Sylvain standing at the entrance to the dining hall, grinning.

“Oh, ah. Hello Sylvain.”

Sylvain walks towards him, eyeing the ingredients he’d begun to stack on the counter.

“Hey, you’re cooking tonight, right? Mind if I join you? I’ve always wanted to learn.”

Dedue’s about to open his mouth to ask why, or tell him that having little to no skill here will likely leave him quickly feeling lost, but then he remembers how Sylvain has been acting ever since they’d been given their new mission. His classmate is probably just looking for a nice distraction to take his mind off things, and Dedue can understand that. He isn’t one to criticize how someone chooses to grapple with a tough situation.

So he nods, and moves over to give Sylvain room next to him at the counter.

Sylvain smiles at him in thanks, and begins to look over everything Dedue has laid out, clearly unsure of where to start. He eyes the list the head chef had set out and grabs it.

“What are you making tonight?”

“Gautier Cheese Gratin.”

Sylvain gives him a look. “You’re joking. That stuff is absolutely disgusting, I don’t know how Felix eats it-have you tried it?”

“...His Highness is fond of it.”

Sylvain snorts. “Of course he is. I guess nothing has changed, then.” He gives the list another look and slowly pockets it, giving a loud sigh. “Well, it’s a shame we couldn’t find the note telling us you had to prepare it. They leave all the windows and doors open in here, and you know how the wind’s been these days.”

Dedue smirks. “Oh, do I now.”

It’s been swelteringly hot all week. 

Sylvain ignores him, snapping his fingers like he’d just had an idea. “We should make something you like! Something from Duscur. If it’s something you’ve made a million times, it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out how to teach me to make it.”

Dedue stills. “I...am not sure that that is such a great idea. We are supposed to be cooking for the entire academy.”

Sylvain shrugs. “Hey, I bet most of them don’t even know enough about Duscur to be able to tell when they’re eating its food.” He walks over to the shelves where the ingredients are held and eyes them for a moment, clearly searching for something.

“Oh hey, these are Albinean fish-Albinea isn’t too far from Duscur, right? Have any good dishes with these?”

Dedue’s eyes widen slightly. He hadn’t expected Sylvain to know that. Most people’s knowledge of Duscur only extended to, well, the _name Duscur_ , and the...events associated along with it.

“Yes, you are correct. My town often traded with Albinea for their fish-we would use it in one of my favorite dishes, actually. Grilled Herring.”

Sylvain grins. “Perfect! We’re making it.”

Dedue looks around apprehensively before he can stop himself, checking to see if anyone is watching them. “I still do not think this is a very good idea, Sylvain. People will likely start... _talking_ about you if they learn you choose to spend time with me-I do not want to place that on you.”

Sylvain shrugs. “People already talk about me. And besides-that’s dumb. Those people are just assholes, then. I’m not gonna let them dictate who I want to hang out with, Dedue. Besides-it’s just food. _Good_ food. If people are gonna be shitty about it, I’ll just let them suffer with their Gautier Cheese Gratin next time.”

He sets down the fish before Dedue can figure out how to respond.

Sylvain looks up at him. “Alright, so, where do we start? You said it’s a grilled dish, right? Should I get the skillet?”

Dedue feels himself smiling as he shakes his head no, and begins looking around for what he knows he’s seen lying around here somewhere before.

(“Didn’t Mom say we shouldn’t be touching that?”

Maia slams down a large ceramic pot on their counter and grins at him toothily.

“Ma isn’t _here._ And I wanna teach you how to grill fish _properly_ -she’ll never know, and then she’ll be super impressed when you’re immediately good at using it-it’s fine!”

Dedue gives his sister a look. She rolls her eyes.

“Come _on,_ don’t be like that-Ma’s showed me how it works a couple times before! I don’t even know what she’s so worried about, it’s not like we have one of those super fragile ones.”

He cocks his head. “Fragile?”

She nods. “Yeah-Ma got this super fancy finishing done on it so you don’t have to prepare it beforehand, but usually you’d need to soak something like this in water before using it so it doesn’t crack. We do still need to season it with oil and hot water first, though.”

“What’s the difference between using the pot and using something else?”

Maia grins at him knowingly again. “It’s all in the _flavor._ Apparently most people outside of Duscur don’t use these, I don’t know how they manage. The pot keeps all the moisture in the food, so it always ends up super tender, and it’s the _best._ I can immediately tell when Ma doesn’t use it in her cooking.” She knocks him on the shoulder playfully. “Pray neither of us ever have to go to Fhirdiad. I’d take properly seasoned food over seeing some royalty any day.”)

Dedue finds what he’s looking for and pulls out a small ceramic pot, setting it on the counter in front of them. Whoever had been using it clearly hadn’t known how to take care of it very well, as small cracks spider up and down its sides.

Sylvain eyes it quizzically. “We’re using that?”

Dedue nods. “We’ll need to clean it and soak it in water before we use it for anything else, though. It’ll take a little while, but that’s alright. Can you slice some turnips for me? I’ll handle the fish.”

Sylvain nods, but hesitates once he turns to the knife rack, clearly unsure of which one to use. Dedue’s about to point one out for him before he slowly grabs a large chef’s knife, glancing slightly in Dedue’s direction as if checking for approval. Dedue gives a small nod, amused, but Sylvain looks back down at the knife without seeming to have acknowledged him.

Sylvain slices turnips the same way he picked the knife-his hands are slow, jerky, and hesitant, but after a few moments of him awkwardly moving the knife around he gives a surprised huff, and his hands become a little more steady, a little more practiced. Dedue notices that Sylvain starts to cut the turnips with the same technique his mother used once he appears to get the hang of things, and the realization brings a warm feeling to his chest.

The fish comes out good, _very good_ , and as they sit together to eat it in companionable silence, the familiar smell of the dish wafting around them, Dedue can almost imagine that he’s back home.

* * *

Sylvain feels...he’s not even really sure _what_ he feels..

He doesn’t think he’s still fully processed the weight of where they’re going, or what they’re about to do, and though his classmates keep sending him worried looks on the way there they still don’t understand the full weight of it.

The ghosts seem to understand a part of it-but they don’t know why he’s so worried.

They’ll figure it out soon though, won’t they?

Goddess, he feels like he’s going to be sick.

He doesn’t register most of the ride over save for the grounding feeling of Felix and Dedue sitting on either side of him, and numbly grabs his lance once they arrive at their camp to begin preparations.

“Hey,” a voice says gruffly, and Sylvain turns to find Felix looking at him.

“Professor Byleth just gave the order to leave Miklan relatively unharmed,” he says, “so there’s no need to get caught up worrying about it and get yourself killed.”

Glenn snorts. “Real comforting there Fe,” he says dryly, “Nice one.”

Sylvain ignores him.

“You don’t sound very happy about that,” he says.

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Of course I’m not. That bastard is lucky you’re protecting him, even if I have no fucking idea why you would be.”

“I’m not protecting him,” Sylvain says quickly, but Felix gives him a look that tells him he doesn’t believe that for a second, and a small part of Sylvain is inclined to agree with him.

 _If he knew, maybe it’d stop him,_ a small voice in his brain says, but he pushes it down. 

Felix makes a small huff. “Regardless-that idiot got himself into this mess, so again-don’t go agonizing over him so much that it ruins your ability to function properly and you wind up dead. We had a deal, remember?”

Sylvain nods absentmindedly, but his eyes widen once he registers what Felix was referring to. “Wait, you-you still remember that?”

Felix reddens, and he scowls. “What-of course I do. Don’t change the subject.”

Glenn grins. “Pretty sure that was all you, Fe.”

There’s a light hand on his shoulder, and Sylvain already knows who it belongs to from the way Felix visibly stiffens in front of him.

“The Professor is requesting that we move in soon,” Dimitri says, a small sympathetic smile on his face. “Will...will you be alright, Sylvain?”

Sylvain shrugs. “It’s just my brother causing some trouble, like he always does,” he says. “Everyone knows to leave him alive. I’ll be fine.”

Dimitri looks at him for a moment before nodding and moving away, and Sylvain pretends not to notice the matching frowns Glenn and Felix give him as he goes to do a last-minute check of his lance.

 _I’m fine,_ he thinks, as he runs a cloth over the tip of his lance, _Everything will be fine._

He still hasn’t really figured out what he wants his definition of _fine_ to be, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

* * *

They haven’t run into Miklan yet.

His brother had, surprisingly, gotten a decent amount of men to follow him, and they're stationed all over the tower, as he’d clearly expected some kind of forces to come looking for him.

He rounds a corner as Annette blasts a bandit with her wind, and skids to a halt, because he can... _hear it._

_He can hear the fucking Lance._

It doesn’t sound very pleased, the shouts echoing down the hall only a little quieter than the ones Thunderbrand had made at its worst.

Annette shoots him a curious look.

“What’s wrong?” she signs quickly, using her free hand to hit another bandit with a spell without even looking at him.

“Thought I heard something,” he signs back absentmindedly, his attention still focused on where he can hear the voices of the Lance.

Annette groans. “Come on Sylvain, keeping eye contact is important, remember?” she says, out loud this time. “But I’m not exactly the best person to consult with about that, you know. What did it sound like?”

Sylvain shakes his head. “Sorry-It’s nothing. I’m probably just hearing things.”

Annette frowns at him for a moment before more bandits charge at them and the topic is forcibly dropped.

The lance is still making its presence known, though.

They must be close.

* * *

His brother manages to spot him before he does.

A loud, harsh laugh bounces off the walls, and Sylvain can’t help the chill that runs down his spine at the sound.

Miklan’s standing at the other end of the tower surrounded by a group of his men, the Lance pulsing angrily from where it sits in his hand. Sylvain isn’t close enough to get a perfectly clear view of his brother’s face-but he thinks that’s probably a good thing. Miklan doesn’t appear to have changed much since Sylvain has last seen him.

“Princess!” his brother jeers, and something in Sylvain’s stomach twists at the use of the old nickname, “I should have known you’d waltz your way into this somehow-jumped at the chance to take another thing away from me, did you?”

Sylvain grits his teeth. “Come on, Miklan. Just give the Lance back. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Miklan grins, but it’s dripping with malice. “Of course you don’t. You never could, could you? That’s why you need all these other people here, isn’t it? To do all the work for you? Always dragging other people into your own shit you can’t handle, Princess,” he growls. “I see absolutely nothing has changed.”

Sylvain is belatedly reminded of the fact that all of his classmates are currently witnessing their exchange-they’d regrouped at the base of the highest point in the tower before going up-and Sylvain isn’t sure if that makes him feel better or worse.

Felix visibly bristles from where he stands next to him. 

“Shut the hell up, you bastard,” he says. “You’re always blaming Sylvain for shit he had nothing to do with.”

“ _Felix,_ ” Sylvain says warningly, but the other doesn’t acknowledge him.

Miklan scoffs. “You’re that Fraldarius kid, right? Looking to complete the set? I know you followed that freak around like a lost puppy when you were little, but a matching dead brother seems a bit much, don’t you think?”

Felix’s gaze darkens, Glenn scowls, and Sylvain can see Dimitri stiffen.

“How _dare you-”_ Felix starts, but Miklan cuts him off.

“Anyways, I know you’re all here to take the Lance from me,” he says, a sharp grin growing back onto his face as he twists the glowing weapon in his hands, “But I’m not so sure I'm willing to give it up.”

The lance shrieks at the movement, drowning out the rest of Miklan’s words, and it begins to dawn on Sylvain that something is very, _very_ wrong.

Miklan’s men charge forward, and Sylvain’s classmates run to meet them, but he stumbles as he starts to move, because the shrieking only gets _louder._ It gives him a sickening feeling of déjà vu as he thinks back to Lonato, but the Lance sounds more frantic than Thunderbrand ever did. More panicked.

More _angry._

He sees Miklan make a lunge for Dedue, hears the Lance’s desperate scream of protest, and moves before he can stop himself.

“Miklan! _”_ he shouts. “Miklan, _don’t!”_

His brother turns on him with a snarl. “Don’t you _dare_ try to fucking tell me what to do, Princess _-agh!”_

The lance gives another angry shriek, and Sylvain watches in horror as _black tendrils_ begin to snake out of the red stone and wrap up his brother’s arm-a horror that only increases once he registers Miklan and Dedue’s shocked reactions.

_They can see this, too._

Miklan gives another pained yell, and Sylvain steps back in terror as the tendrils begin to wrap around his entire body, moving with the echoing cries of the lance as they sink into his brother’s skin and _pull._

Sylvain belatedly realizes that the tower has grown still around them-not that that really matters, the screams of the lance mixed with the increasingly more panicked yells of his brother are the only things he can hear-and bandit, classmate, and knight alike have become rooted in their spots, all stood still watching the terrifying display unfold before them.

Miklan gives a final horrified scream as the tendrils completely cover his body, drowning him, but then they’re _growing, shifting,_ and Dedue throws out a protective hand in front of Sylvain as the black mass in front of them swells, writhing and twisting its way to the top of the tower.

A mangled gray arm fitted with claws bursts out of the blackness, and an _ear-splitting_ screech fills the room that leaves many of the bandits currently trying to flee clutching at their heads in agony.

It sounds like the cries from the lance, except so, _so_ much worse.

Bony spikes burst upwards from its back with a sickening crunch, a large tail flies out that leaves cracks in the floor, and Sylvain can only stand and watch in horror as the rotting gray head of the _thing_ that used to be his brother emerges, unhinging its jaw full of mangled sharp teeth to let out a bone-shattering roar that contains no traces of humanity.

Sylvain sees the symbol of his crest on the creature’s skin, pulsing red and angry like it’d been seared into its chest, and he feels like he’s going to be sick.

He barely registers the terrified shouts of the remaining bandits, hardly feels Dedue’s strong hands on his shoulders pulling him back, he can’t move, can’t speak, can’t _think._

The Lance had-the _Lance had-_

The beast roars again, and judging by both the sound of its thundering footsteps and Dedue’s sharp intake of breath, Sylvain has a pretty good guess of where it’s currently headed.

He almost wants to laugh.

Of course. Of _course._ Even after losing all shreds of his humanity, even after being turned into a fucking _monster,_ Miklan would always-he’d _always_ -

New yells join those of the creature’s, and Sylvain can see Dimitri and Felix running at the thing from either side, Christophe, Glenn, and Maia hot on their tails as old wounds reopen on their bodies. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen any of them look this angry before.

The white-hot lines of Dimitri’s crest make themselves known as he throws his lance into one of the beast’s legs, and Felix twists his sword in a way he’s never seen him do before as he thrusts it into another.

It’s all over rather quickly, in the grand scheme of things. 

One moment the beast is letting out another terrifying roar, and the next it’s completely gone without a trace, leaving only Miklan’s dead body and the Lance in its wake.

Even though Sylvain knows it’s coming, his stomach still drops when he sees the telltale rise of Miklan’s ghost, and even more so when his brother actually turns to face him-because his ghost is _horrifying._

His eyes are pure black, empty, and dripping with blood, red stains streaking down Miklan’s cheeks. His skin is completely mutilated, with some parts human flesh and some parts thick gray scales, the two looking like they’re crudely stitched together in some places. His mouth is pooling with an awful black substance, and his teeth are a grotesque amalgamation of both beast and human, some not even looking like they fit in his mouth. 

His eyes narrow when they look at Sylvain, and a wave of hatred and pure unbridled _disgust_ slams into his body like a truck, causing him to stumble backward. Miklan grins at that, his teeth jagged and glinting from where they tear out of his mouth, and begins to move towards him, a clawed hand stretching outward.

The ghosts around him quickly move to try to stop his brother, but Sylvain stays rooted in his spot, because he was _right,_ he was _right_ and everything he’d feared for years was going to start happening and there was nothing he could do to stop it or try to get help or-

Smoking black tendrils reach out and snag around Miklan’s waist and arms, just as they’d done before his death, yanking him back towards where the lance lies on the ground. The ghost writhes in their grip, but it’s pointless-they tighten around his form and pull and pull and _pull_ and Miklan’s screaming, spikes popping out of his back and teeth elongating, but the tendrils give one final _yank_ and there’s a horrible sound and then-

And then he’s gone.

The tower is silent.

He’s _gone._

It isn’t until Dedue places a concerned hand on his shoulder that Sylvain realizes he’s shaking, and he has to concentrate to keep his legs from giving out under him.

The hands in his dreams are dripping with scales and claws that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update might be a bit slower so i apologize in advance!! i've reached the end of the backlog of my chapters with this one because the next part has been giving me some trouble and now i actually have to start writing things for school, so ;;
> 
> next time: sylvain has some much needed conversations.


	8. Chapter 8

Sylvain knows that his classmates know that something is off.

Sylvain also knows that his classmates know that he knows that they know that something is off.

It’s not like the connections were very hard to make. Subtlety was never one of Miklan’s strengths.

It makes the first day back after the mission even worse than he’d already pictured it being, with the tension in the room wound up so tightly it could probably jump out and smack him in the eye if he isn’t careful.

He isn’t entirely sure what he was expecting to happen; his already shoddily-crafted mask had practically crumbled away to a thread as soon as he’d walked into the dining hall and everyone had just  _ looked _ at him, and he’s already regretting not just staying holed up in his dorm and letting everyone else do the work of excusing his absence for him.

But staying alone in his room meant he’d have nothing else to do but think about  _ it,  _ and  _ not thinking about it  _ was probably the only thing keeping the last shreds of his sanity together, as even his usual rationalizations hadn’t worked.

The decision to stay back or go to school that day had been a matter of picking the lesser of two evils, in all honesty, since none of his classmates seem to know how to approach him, ghosts included, which he’d expected. Sylvain doesn’t really blame them. He has no idea how to approach all of... _ that _ either.

Hence the  _ not thinking about it _ .

Of course, ignoring the situation during the day has left it to rear its ugly head at night as he sleeps (if it could even be considered sleeping), but it’s nothing he hasn’t already seen before.

That realization should probably concern him more than it does, but hey! He isn’t thinking about it.

It’s fine.

He’s fine.

He’ll definitely be able to use the Lance again.

He has to, right? If it does what he thinks it does, he can’t afford to not use it in dire circumstances because of something that happened to his…

Yeah, okay, he’s definitely not thinking about it. The mission is over. Things can go back to normal.

His classmates seem reluctant to let that happen, however, and he has to blink a couple times when he sees his childhood friends enter the dining hall because Felix is  _ willingly walking next to Dimitri  _ in as much of a companionable silence as he’s probably capable of _ ,  _ and Ingrid’s right alongside them, chewing worriedly at her lip. Glenn’s trailing behind them, the clear surprise he has for the situation slightly overshadowed by the anger Sylvain feels flickering off of him.

He’s so caught off-guard by the sight of Felix and Dimitri together that he fails to notice that they’re heading straight for his table, and he startles slightly as they sit down around him. There’s a mix of emotions on their faces that Sylvain can’t decipher, though he recognizes one to be anger, even if he can’t feel it rolling off of them in waves like he can with Glenn’s.

Dimitri clears his throat, hands wringing awkwardly from where he has them resting on the table.

“Ah, Sylvain. We, ah. We wanted to-”

“Shut up,” Felix snaps. “You can’t beat around the bush with this like you do everything else, boar.” He turns to Sylvain, his features set into a hard frown. “We should have been there for you when we were kids.”

It’s then that Sylvain realizes what the underlying emotion on all of their faces is.

It’s  _ guilt. _

_ What are they feeling guilty for? _

Dimitri seems to sense his confusion and sighs.

“It’s clear from the last mission that Miklan’s... _ contention _ with you was far larger than any of us had realized,” he says, his voice low. “Though, thinking back on it, we should have been able to come to that conclusion ages ago.”

Oh.

_ That’s  _ what this is about?

(“I don’t know why he’s so mean to you,” Felix says, his eyes already beginning to well up with tears. “Glenn’s my older brother too, and-and he never does anything like that, even when he gets really mad!”

They’re at their usual spot, the large oak tree in the woods a ways away from Sylvain’s house. Felix and Ingrid like it because the branches are just low enough that they can be reached without too much effort, and Dimitri likes watching the family of robins that have taken refuge in the pine tree right next to it, but Sylvain likes it because it’s just far enough away from the estate that Miklan won’t bother to make the trek over to find him. Not that he’d admit that to the others, though.

“Older brothers shouldn’t act like that at all!” Ingrid huffs, crossing her arms. “Miklan doesn’t deserve to be called one. He’s just a big jerk.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to tell?” Dimitri asks, his wide eyes still fixed on Sylvain’s newly acquired black eye. “I mean, I’m the Prince-helping my friends should be something I’m able to do...right?”

Felix rolls his eyes, rubbing at them furiously in an attempt to stop the tears before they come. “Well yeah,” he says, “that’s the whole  _ point.  _ If you tell Miklan to stop, he’s supposed to.” He turns to Sylvain, then, tiny face set into a scowl. “Tell Dimitri to tell your brother to stop being the worst!”

Sylvain almost wants to laugh, because he  _ wishes  _ it could be that simple. Miklan’s face looms in his mind, and his hand instinctively moves to his left side, thankfully hidden under the dark fabric of his shirt.

He shakes his head. “I’ve told you guys already, it’d-it’d just make everything worse. It’s not that bad, really-I can handle it! Miklan just gets upset sometimes.”

Felix rests his head on his knees with a huff, hands picking idly at the grass. “Just because you  _ can  _ handle it doesn’t mean that you should,” he says, mumbling slightly.

Ingrid nods vigorously, frowning. “Maybe Miklan would stop if he sees how much it’s actually upsetting you!” She deflates slightly, her features turning softer. “If nothing else has worked it’s worth a try, right? I mean...he’s your  _ brother. _ ”

Dimitri looks down at his hands thoughtfully, twisting a particularly long blade of grass he’d grabbed around his fingers. “If Miklan’s still being mean by the time I’m King, I’ll just...set Sylvain as my right-hand advisor and tell him to stop. Then he couldn’t really do anything, right?”

It’s a nice sentiment. Sylvain appreciates the gesture.

Felix frowns. “I thought I was gonna be your right hand advisor.”

Dimitri throws the blade of grass at him. “You’ll both be one, then.”

Sylvain shakes his head, waving a hand. “No, he can be it. He’d do a way better job than me, anyway. I’ll be your... _ left-hand  _ advisor,” he settles on eventually, which makes Ingrid groan in protest and Dimitri grin.

Felix says nothing, flopping onto his back on the grass and staring up at the sun, squinting slightly as it beams down onto his face.

"...Miklan will stop being mean eventually, right?” he asks eventually, his voice small.

Ingrid joins him, on her stomach instead, and fiddles with a flower she plucks from the ground.

“He has to,” she says.)

(He doesn’t.)

Sylvain’s still slightly confused.

“It’s-it’s fine, guys,” he says, shaking his head slightly, “You were all like, six. I told you to not say anything, anyway.”

“That doesn’t mean we still couldn’t have  _ helped  _ you,” Ingrid says indignantly. “Miklan was only disowned a couple years ago, too. Goddess, it’s so obvious something more was happening than what you were letting on-did you know that we never figured it out? Or did you just think that we didn’t care enough about-

“No!” he says hurriedly, cutting her off, “No, I never thought anything like that. I, uh. I never really wanted you guys to know anything about it at all, to be honest. Miklan was just angry at the situation I’d left him with, really. Doing anything about it would have just made him more upset.”

He’d meant it as a form of reassurance, but it had been the wrong thing to say. There’s a small beat of silence at the table as they all blink at him in slight disbelief before Felix scowls.

_ “Sylvain,”  _ he says, and there’s something pleading in his tone, urgent, “Your brother trying to  _ kill you  _ is not him being  _ angry at his situation. None  _ of what he did to you was.”

The table goes quiet again as the full weight of Felix’s words hang in the air. Sylvain isn’t sure if he’s referring to what Miklan did during the mission or if he’d managed to piece together more of their childhood than Sylvain had initially figured. He doesn’t want to ask to find out.

“...Sylvain,” Dimitri begins, after a while, “We cannot change what has already been done-or not done, I suppose, but we can at least attempt to make up for it now. So, ah, if you ever wish to...to talk about anything, I promise that we’re always genuinely willing to listen.”

When Sylvain only blinks at him in response, he flushes, and hurriedly adds, “O-only if you want to, though! I understand if you would prefer to keep some things to yourself.”

He manages to not falter when Felix snorts at that, which Sylvain is slightly impressed with.

“...But I just want you to know that the option is there. I’m sure the same can be said for any of our other classmates.”

Sylvain nods stiffly as the bell signaling the end of breakfast sounds, and the sound of benches scraping against the floor fills the dining hall as students begin to take their leave. He hears Glenn tell him that he wants to talk to him for a moment and signs a quick confirmation back, telling his friends that he’ll catch up with them in a bit. He doesn’t miss the way Felix immediately veers as far away from Dimitri as he possibly can once they start heading to class.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

He’s slightly surprised to find that a part of himself genuinely wants to take Dimitri up on his offer. He doesn’t like the idea of them continuing to feel guilty over something like this very much. Sure, he’d have to leave out a hell of a lot of additional context, but maybe he’ll actually follow up on it this time.

Maybe.

Glenn’s waiting for him near one of the pillars outside the dining hall, leaning against it for support he doesn’t technically need. His anger isn’t as prevalent as it was before, but he can still feel it, simmering slightly under the surface.

“I just wanted to talk,” Glenn says when he gets closer, “since I was able to see a little bit more than they did.”

Sylvain thinks seeing the horrifying amalgamation that was his brother’s ghost trying to kill him  _ again  _ before being permanently destroyed by the family heirloom he was supposed to inherit could be classified as something bigger than  _ a little bit more,  _ but he’s not wrong.

“The Professor returned the Lance to the Church,” he continues, “not sure if you knew that.”

Ah. 

He did not.

“Oh,” is all he says in return.

Glenn tilts his head, studying him. “Would you have wanted it back?”

Sylvain snorts. “I have absolutely no fucking idea.”

“That’s fair.”

Sylvain leans against the wall and sinks down to the ground, letting out a humorless laugh.

“It’s just-we can say that it...destroys ghosts, right? The thought of picking up that thing again literally makes me feel ill, but not every person we meet is gonna be so eager to follow Felix’s whole ‘battlefield etiquette’ thing. I’d know from experience-some people can end up being even worse as ghosts, so what if I-what if there are gonna be times where I’d  _ need  _ to use it?”

Glenn shrugs. “There are other Relics, Sylvain. I’m pretty sure, like, half your class is supposed to inherit one.”

“But they won’t know  _ when  _ to use it-most of the people we fight are in  _ militias _ Glenn, I can’t-”

“I’m sure they know to use them sparingly. You really think the Professor is gonna go around swinging that Goddess-forsaken sword from hell at every civilian she meets?” 

“...Well no, but-”

“Sylvain.” Glenn’s tone is firm, but not unkind. “The only person imposing this weird  _ standard  _ onto you is yourself. No one is demanding that you still be able to use the Lance after what happened-I’m sure fucking  _ Christophe _ would have gladly tossed it away to the Church if he’d been through something that was even remotely similar. Like I said, there are alternatives we can turn to if the need ever arises again. You can ask Ingrid or Annette about getting theirs, or the other ghosts and I can step in, or you can warn the Professor in the heat of the moment-the point is, you don’t need to saddle this unofficial role you’ve fitted yourself with all on your own. If you don’t ever want to touch the thing again, you  _ really  _ don’t have to.”

Sylvain had already tried to make this rationalization himself, but he’d immediately shoved it to the farthest corner of his mind after deeming it nothing more than an excuse as to why he shouldn’t have to try to get used to the Lance.

Having Glenn repeat it back to him is making him slightly reconsider his brain’s categorizing skills.

“I...alright,” he says quietly, after a moment. “Okay. Thanks, Glenn.”

Glenn only gives a small nod, studying him. “You  _ do  _ actually have people in your corner, Sylvain, contrary to whatever you might’ve made yourself believe. There’s probably a lot more of us crammed in there than you think.”

  
  


* * *

Byleth has never been very good with emotions. She doesn’t think that’s a very hard statement to make.

Her time as a Professor has been helping with this, according to her father, but she still finds herself going to him for advice on how to deal with her students from time to time-much to his perpetual amusement.

When Sylvain shows up to class a mere two days after their mission, however, with the airs of someone that certainly doesn’t look like they’d just watched the brother they’d begged to keep alive die a terrifyingly horrible death, Byleth doesn’t need to consult with her father to know that something is going on.

Well, there’s more going on than there usually is. She isn’t entirely sure what to make of Sylvain most of the time.

He will give her these...looks, sometimes, where it feels like he can see right through her. Sothis always jokes that he’s actually looking at  _ her _ whenever he does this, though they can both feel the slight apprehension in her words whenever she brings the idea up.

It is...unsettling, to say the least.

There is also the issue of him constantly holding himself back, which he, thankfully, seems to be working on-and Byleth graciously thanks his budding friendship with Annette for seemingly helping with that, since she had honestly no idea how to go about addressing the issue herself other than just  _ making him spar  _ until he eventually got over it and used the full extent of his abilities.

Her father had laughed when she’d told him that. She wasn’t entirely sure what he’d found so amusing.

Then there are the times during classes where she can tell Sylvain’s focus isn’t entirely on the lesson-but not in a sense where he’s deliberately tuning it out, she’s seen Felix’s eyes glaze over during her Reason lessons enough to know what that looks like-and though she has no idea what could be catching his attention, she’s fairly experienced in the “seeing things no one else can” department. She likes to think she can identify it when she notices it.

“If he does have someone else occupying his brain with him, I’d certainly like to know,” Sothis had said, lazily drifting around Byleth’s room as she graded the latest batch of homework. “No offense, Byleth, but you’re not exactly the most thrilling conversationalist. Having someone else to talk to might actually manage to help me feel more awake-and it also might help us answer the question of how and why I’m even here in the first place.”

Byleth doubts having mysterious not-children living in your head is a very common occurrence in Fódlan, but she has yet to come up with an alternative explanation, so the idea is still on the table they’ve mentally set up.

She doesn’t think it’s a facet of his crest, Hanneman certainly hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort in his lengthy bouts of explaining them to her-and sure, both her and Sothis had taken turns of zoning out of the conversation, but they’d reported back to the other of what they’d missed, so she’s sure it hadn’t been mentioned.

She also doesn’t remember extreme sensitivity to old relics being brought up, and Byleth certainly didn’t have that kind of reaction to discovering the Sword even with the presence of Sothis in her head, so she honestly has no explanation to offer up for what had apparently happened.

She hadn’t even seen Sylvain when she’d pulled the Sword out of the tomb, but based on Dimitri’s very concerned retelling of the mission’s events after the fact,  _ something _ about the Sword must have caused him to keel over like that. She knew the explanation he’d given Manuela had been a lie-the way he’d practically begged her to keep the thing in her room afterward had made that obvious.

She’d been planning on asking him about it, but then she’d been given their new mission-and everything had gone downhill from there, really.

The list titled ‘Questions I Need to Ask Sylvain Jose Gautier’ had suddenly grown exponentially, but she’d been left with even less ways to go about asking them, because how were you even supposed to pry into a kid that had just had all of... _ that _ happen to them.

She finishes up her lecture, paying more attention to Sylvain than the words that are actually coming out of her mouth, and lightly walks over to place a hand on his desk before he has the chance to leave with the others. She can see some of them give Sylvain slightly worried looks as they gather their things and leave, but Byleth ignores them. Sylvain does too.

He grins at her, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, hey Professor! If this is about the Lance, don’t worry-I already know where it ended up.”

Byleth nods in response. “Yes, I apologize for not consulting with you about it beforehand, though. If you would like, I can attempt to retrieve it-though I was under the assumption that you most likely would not want me to do that.”

Sylvain grins awkwardly. “Yeah, well. You weren’t entirely off, I guess.”

Byleth cocks her head. She hasn’t gotten it wrong, has she?

“What do you mean?”

Sylvain snorts. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out for myself. Jury’s currently set on “Never touch the thing again,” though, so I think I’ll let the good ol’ Archbishop deal with it for a bit.”

Byleth nods again. “That’s fine, I understand. Emotions can be...difficult.”

Sothis snickers in her head.  _ “Very astute, Byleth. Professor of the year right there.” _

“While we’re on the subject of Relics, though, there is something else I would like to ask,” Byleth continues, ignoring her. “Is there...something wrong with the sword I found?”

Sylvain visibly stiffens at that, his hands raising in defense. “Wha-no! No, it’s-it’s really nothing, honestly. It’s fine.”

“It definitely seems to be negatively affecting you in some way,” Byleth says, frowning. “I don’t want to use it if it’s going to risk hindering your performance in battle.”

Sylvain’s brow furrows, clearly struggling to put the words together for his response. “Look, Professor, I was just-it caught me off guard, when you first found it. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

Byleth raises an eyebrow. “According to the others, you fell to your knees in pain and almost immediately passed out. When I say “hinder your performance,” I mean that I don’t want you to end up getting  _ killed,  _ Sylvain.”

Sylvain winces slightly. “Yeah, well. Like I said, I was just caught off guard.” He trails off for a moment, and when his eyes meet hers again there’s something much more pressing behind them. “But Professor-that sword might end up being really,  _ really  _ important. We can’t risk never using it just because of me. It’s gotten way better since that first time, I promise.”

“But  _ what _ about it elicits that kind of reaction from you?” Byleth presses. “I need to know if there’s anything I can do to fix it.”

Sylvain leans back, giving her a sad smile. “Even if I knew, Professor, I’m not sure I’d even be able to tell you. It’s not exactly something many people will understand.”

Byleth thinks of the small not-child currently taking up residence in her head and chooses her next words carefully. 

“I…” she begins, “I feel that everyone has something troubling them that they feel they aren’t able to share with anyone. And sure, maybe that particular thing is...out of the usual realm of understanding, but I also feel that someone’s personal worry for your own wellbeing can be strong enough to break any possible limitations in that area.”

Sylvain looks unconvinced, so she continues.

“I understand how you feel Sylvain, I do,” she says. “But, if you’re feeling hesitant, please also keep in mind that there are many other ways to still get your point across if you find yourself in need of help. If you need to water the explanation down a little, that’s fine-I won’t pry. I just need to know if, at the very least, something I’m unaware of is bothering you so we can discuss ways to ease it. The last thing I want is to have you suffering in silence while I throw you into a situation you aren’t physically or mentally ready for.” She straightens herself and clears her throat. “So, that being said...does keeping the Sword sheathed help?”

There’s a small beat of silence as Sylvain blinks at her, a mix of emotions on his face that Byleth can’t quite decipher. Sothis chuckles slightly at her confusion. She really hopes that that was helpful. Byleth is very much not equipped for this kind of conversation.

Then, Sylvain grins, and she breathes a sigh of relief internally.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, that’ll help.”

The list titled ‘Questions I Need to Ask Sylvain Jose Gautier’ is currently longer than it has ever been, but that doesn’t really matter at the moment.

Byleth can work with this.

* * *

Edmund Martriz has always been proud of his daughter. Just from watching her grow up, he can say without hesitation that she is one of the smartest, kindest, most perceptive people he’s ever met.

Well,  _ met  _ really isn’t the correct word, is it.

He feels a bit foolish sometimes, sticking around as much as he does for as long as he has. He finds himself feeling a small twinge of guilt every time he thinks of himself as Mercedes’ father, because in all fairness, he really  _ isn’t.  _

He can see himself in the familiar slope of her nose, in the shape of her jaw, but that’s all he really had been able to give her-he could do nothing but watch helplessly as his family lived with that horrible excuse for a man, and could only sit and hope for the best as they’d been forced to flee from yet another home.

Mercedes is his daughter, yes, but she isn’t  _ his  _ daughter. Everything she is and everything she’s grown into is due in no thanks to him, and all he’s ever really been able to do for her is keep an eternal eye out-though it isn’t like she’s particularly aware of this.

She really has grown into everything he wasn’t-she’s exceptionally good at reading people and knowing exactly what to say to them, for starters-something he’d never been particularly stellar at, which is why he isn’t at all surprised when she goes out of her way to seek out a conversation with that red-headed boy (Sylvain, he’s sure his name is.) Based on what he’s heard-because as much as he loves Mercedes battle is still something he isn’t particularly fond of, and he usually elects to stay behind along with some of the Duscurians that share a similar disposition-that last mission had been particularly brutal on the young man.

General word of mouth has told him that Sylvain is also able to see...people like him, which is incredibly intriguing, though he hasn’t had the chance to have a proper chat with the boy yet.  _ Now _ is most certainly not the time for one, though.

Mercedes runs into the boy near the Cathedral, “accidentally” bumping into him and graciously taking up the excuse he’d unknowingly offered by confirming that she’d only been looking to pray.

Mercedes is scarily good at things like this, sometimes. Edmund has no idea how she does it.

“Oh, actually Sylvain-you’ve just reminded me, I’ve been meaning to ask you something!” she says, snapping him back to the conversation.

Sylvain snorts. “Yeah,” he says dryly, “Most people have. Miklan didn’t leave very much up to the imagination, did he.”

Mercedes shakes her head. “Oh no, nothing about that. I was only wondering-have you ever looked into Faith magic?”

“...Like, to use during battle?” Sylvain asks, which makes Mercedes smile.

“Annette always tells me how good you are with Reason, so I think you’d be quite skilled at it if you tried-but that’s not really what I’m getting at here. I’ve always found the study and theory behind it to be much more interesting, you know?”

Sylvain nods slowly, still unsure of where the conversation is heading. Edmund has to agree with him.

“Did you know I came up with the spell I use in battle myself? Annette helped with parts of it, she’s always been better at the more technical aspects than me-but It’s sort of a...combination of pre-existing ones. We came up with it together at the School of Sorcery we used to attend!”

This is true. Edmund had watched her and Annette pour over countless books full of information that had gone completely over his head.

“Anyways-I was partly raised in a church, so I’ve always had a soft spot for Faith magic, but I always thought it was strange that there were hardly any spells specifically crafted to help the caster, you know?” 

“Uh...I guess, yeah. What does this-“

“I think that always requiring the healer to choose to prioritize the health of others over their own isn’t very...well, healthy,” Mercedes continues, ignoring Sylvain’s clear confusion. ”If you’ve been hit with an arrow while your teammate has been hit with a sword, most healer textbooks will say to heal your teammate first and get to yourself later, because they don’t have the means of doing it themselves. And sure, that may be alright to do the first time, but what happens if you keep getting hit with arrows?” 

She shrugs, her lips quirking up into a small smile.

“Healers have always been made to constantly weigh their own pain against everyone else’s, but I just find that so silly, don’t you? If I’ve been shot with three arrows, I’ve still been shot with three arrows, and it would be foolish to not let myself immediately worry about that just because there might be something else happening to someone somewhere.” She looks up at Sylvain, then. “...Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Sylvain still looks slightly dumbfounded. “I...I think so? I, ah, still don’t really get what this has to do with-“

“Sylvain,” she says, and though her tone is firmer, it still isn’t unkind, “We are allowed to feel upset about things that happen to us. If we’re hurt, regardless of whether someone might be hurting more, we are...still hurt,” she says simply. “We aren’t selfish for allowing ourselves to feel pain just because another person might have felt worse. When we look after others it’s also incredibly important that we look after ourselves as well-because if we’re not at our best when we’re helping them, the help we’re giving won’t be our best either, will it?”

Sylvain shakes his head slowly, and Edmund thinks that Mercedes can also see the gears physically turning in his mind, because she smiles.

“Right then,” she says, clapping her hands together, “I really should be on my way to praying. Thank you for listening to me ramble, Sylvain.”

She moves past him to leave, but Sylvain whirls around and catches her arm.

“Hey-thank you, Mercedes,” he says lowly. “You, uh. You didn’t have to do that.”

Mercedes only shakes her head. “I’m just talking about my theories,” she says, gently detaching herself from his grip, “But if you ever want to talk more about them, I’m all ears.”

She bids him goodbye, then, and begins to move toward the Cathedral. Edmund doesn’t even remember where she’d originally been intending to go. He goes to follow her before Sylvain clears his throat behind him, and it takes Edmund a moment to register that that had probably been directed towards him.

“Your daughter is, uh...really great,” Sylvain says.

Edmund raises his hands in defense, because it’s not as if he can be owed any of the credit. “Oh, thank you, young man, but I’m not really her-”

Sylvain snorts. “Yes, you are."

He pauses, seemingly mulling over his next few words, his features schooled into an expression Edmund can't quite place.

"...Physical presence doesn't really have to mean much in terms of family, in the grand scheme of things," he says finally. "Trust me."

Edmund does.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god this chapter gave me so much trouble i'm just glad that it's finally done sdkjfh
> 
> luckily i already have a very clear idea of what's going on next time so things will hopefully go a little faster!
> 
> also thank you to everyone who keeps commenting! i'm sorry i'm so bad at replying to them djkhg but i do read them all repeatedly and they fuel this fic when my writing brain refuses to, so thank you again!!
> 
> next time: flayn gets kidnapped, and sylvain's life only gets harder.


	9. Chapter 9

The news all spreads rather quickly, to be honest. Sylvain’s classmates had been spared the lovely feeling of having the waves of panic emanating from the ghost by Seteth’s side crash into them at full force almost as soon as they'd entered the Dining Hall, but it also doesn’t take very long for the whole room to be filled with murmurs and speculations about Flayn’s disappearance.

Professor Byleth had clearly intended to spend her class time informing them of the situation, but she’d elected to end early in favor of doing more digging into the situation once she’d realized they’d all essentially heard everything there was to hear about it already. They’d all stayed behind in the classroom to continue discussing the whole thing, but Sylvain isn’t really paying attention.

He knows it’s Professor Jeritza.

Okay, well, he doesn’t  _ technically  _ know that it’s Professor Jeritza, but there’s also no way it  _ isn’t,  _ unless Garreg Mach is somehow housing another Professor working part-time as a serial killer. Wouldn’t really surprise him, to be honest.

He sure has a hell of a lot of proof, though. It just so happens, however, that said proof amounts to two sentences spoken by a hysterical dead woman and things he’s seen with his unexplainable ghost powers, so the strength of his case doesn’t exactly hold up too well in the face of the Knights.

He really,  _ really  _ hopes that everyone else catches on soon. He doesn’t want to think about seeing someone like Flayn like...that.

His classmates seem to share a similar sentiment, though their worries are most likely stemming from a desire to not discover her lying dead somewhere rather than accidentally learning about it preemptively from what would inevitably become a permanent reminder of their loss. 

“Who do you think could have done this?” Annette asks worriedly, her chair creaking as she turns around in her seat to face the group. “Because there’s no way she just got up and left on her own.”

Ashe’s face pales slightly. “Didn’t something similar happen the year before, too?” He winces. “I heard they never found the girl who went missing, or the person who did it. Some people have been saying it was the work of evil spirits, but I don’t know if I really believe all that…”

“Sure you don’t,” Christophe deadpans, and Sylvain has to resist the urge to grin.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Felix snaps, twisting his body around to glare at Ashe, “Ghosts aren’t real.”

The look the three ghosts currently occupying the room turn and give him is enough to make Sylvain let out a snort that he hastily turns into what he hopes is a realistic cough, though the raised eyebrow Felix gives him is probably an indication that he hadn’t been very successful.

“Anyway,” Felix continues, shaking his head, “I can’t say anything for sure, but I do have my suspicions about Jeritza. He seems more...impulsive than usual. Tenser.”

“Oh thank the Goddess,” Glenn breathes, running his hands down his face, “I heard Ingrid suggesting fucking  _ Gilbert  _ earlier.”

Sylvain is also relieved that Felix agrees with them, even if the other doesn’t technically know it. He’d overheard a particularly egregious theory about  _ Alois  _ of all people from one of the Deer kids.

“I’m with Felix on this one,” he says out loud, shrugging. “Something just doesn’t sit right with me about that guy.”

It’s the understatement of the year, but oh well.

Ingrid frowns. “That’s hardly enough information for the Knights to do anything though, right?” she says. “I’m assuming they want as solid of a case as possible so they don’t waste time chasing after the wrong person.”

Felix’s eyes narrow. “I’m almost positive it’s Jeritza. I’m not exactly going to wait around till Flayn shows up  _ dead  _ to start checking whether I’m right or not.”

The room goes silent at that.

“...Felix is right,” Dimitri says, breaking the quiet, and Sylvain doesn’t miss the way Felix immediately scowls, “We can’t just sit around while Flayn is still missing, regardless of what the Knights want to do.” He straightens suddenly, an idea clearly forming on his face. “But looking into Professor Jeritza ourselves would allow them to continue their investigation uninterrupted! If we do happen to be incorrect in our assumptions, we won’t have taken away any precious time needed to find Flayn, but if we’re not, she can be found even faster!”

“I’m not wrong,” Felix grumbles, but Dimitri ignores him, turning his attention to Dedue.

“You had mentioned something about the Monastery having secret passages earlier, right?” he asks.

Dedue nods. “Yes. There are said to be many hidden around the area. It is very possible one of them was used as an escape method in Flayn’s capture.”

Annette’s eyes go wide. “I’ve heard rumors that Professor Jeritza disappears a lot at night…” She pales. “Oh Goddess, there’s no  _ way _ it isn’t him...what should we do?”

An idea is beginning to take shape in Sylvain’s brain.

It’s a stupid idea.

It’s a  _ very  _ stupid idea.

But Sylvain  _ knows  _ it’s Jeritza. So it couldn’t hurt, right?

“Why don’t we try to see what else we can find out, and meet back here tomorrow night?” he suggests, quickly glancing around the room to gauge everyone’s reactions. “If Jeritza leaves at night, we can check his room first, then look for any hidden passages we manage to find out about. If we don’t find Flayn, we might at least be able to find something that can tell us where they’ve taken her.”

No one immediately disagrees, which Sylvain supposes is a good thing.

Or not. 

It is an incredibly stupid plan, after all.

Annette is the first to respond, smacking a fist down on her palm with a determined look.

“Let’s do it,” she says. “I hate sitting around feeling useless like this.”

Ashe nods excitedly. “I’ll ask around later, I know some people who definitely seem like the type to be aware of some secret passages. With all of us looking, I’m sure we’ll be able to find something!”

Christophe snorts. “If anyone can find a secret passage, it’s me _.  _ I swear, I was  _ so close  _ to finding some when I went here, but the damn curfew kept getting my ass.”

Maia raises an eyebrow, slightly amused. “I’ll look too,” she says. “I’m pretty sure this guy will try hitting each individual brick on the wall if no one is there to stop him.”

“So it’s settled, then!” Mercedes says. Her tone is as light as it always is, but there’s a small hint of  _ something _ in her eyes that Sylvain can’t quite place. “Should we meet here after the curfew check tomorrow?”

The group nod in agreement and make to leave as the bell signaling the end of class chimes, filtering out the doors and into the bright sunlight shining down onto the courtyard.

Sylvain follows them out, but hesitates once he reaches the exit. 

Someone’s eyes are on him. 

He turns his head sharply and his gaze locks with-with  _ Claude’s, _ who’s currently leaning on a wall across from the Blue Lion classroom. He smirks when Sylvain spots him and pushes himself off the wall, walking back towards the Dormitory. 

Sylvain hurriedly rips his eyes away, his blood turning cold. 

_ Shit. _

* * *

Sylvain, as per usual, can’t sleep.

He doesn’t really mind it all that much, to be honest; for one, he’s used to it already, as depressing as that sounds, and two, he almost prefers the calm quiet of the monastery at night over the almost overwhelming bustle during the daytime. The only sounds are the quiet murmurs of ghosts still milling around, and, yeah, he has to admit; it is nice.

It’d probably be nicer if he could experience it without reliving the worst day of his life every single night beforehand, but beggars can’t really be choosers, can they.

And hey, at least his brain had been kind enough to switch things up as of late! The additions of Miklan that were incorporated in terrifyingly creative ways each time were a lovely touch. Really added to the whole experience.

Christophe usually manages to find him, whenever he’s out like this; the ghost just seems to have a sense for knowing when his brain decides it hates him more than it usually does. Sylvain would say he feels bad and would try to tell him he doesn’t need to accompany him-but it’s not like the guy really needs to sleep.

Sylvain can’t help but feel slightly jealous at that fact.

“I ever tell you about the time I managed to convince Ashe that seashells were a valid form of currency in some parts of Faerghus? ” Christophe starts, because he’s taken to telling Sylvain as many old embarrassing stories about his brother from their childhood as he possibly can whenever they’re out walking like this, though the look on his face is one more of endearment than anything else. “He got suspicious when he got older, but we also lived nowhere near the coast, so it wasn’t like he could, you know,  _ disprove  _ it.” He chuckles quietly. “He always used to talk about going to the shore together so we could be rich-it took awhile for the whole  _ Dad has actual money _ thing to set in for him, I think.”

Sylvain makes a noncommittal hum. “You have younger siblings too, right? Did they believe you?”

Christophe grins. “Our sister was in on it. She was one  _ hell  _ of a nine-year old. She’s only gotten more terrifying with age, honestly.”

He trails off at that, his smile fading slightly, and the two settle back into companionable silence.

“...It’s weird to think about though, I guess,” Christophe says, after a while. “We all met when the twins were like, eight. I only got to be with them in person for a little over three years before I died, and though I love them, and I know they love me, I...I don’t remember  _ shit _ from when I was eight.”

He kicks at a rock on the ground, though his foot passes right through it.

“I just-I hope I made a lasting impression, you know?”

Sylvain shrugs. “This  _ is  _ you we’re talking about. I don’t think you couldn’t even if you tried. The fact that you were only there for so long is just gonna make them hold on to what they  _ do  _ have as tightly as they can, honestly.”

Christophe smiles at that, though it’s still more subdued than usual. “Thanks, dude.”

He sighs dramatically then, his lips quirking up into a small grin, though it looks more wistful than anything. “Anya and I spent a good week coming up with that shell economy, anyway. She  _ better _ remember that.”

Sylvain has to duck his head to hide his own grin, though he falters slightly as they round the corner.

There’s a very distinctly Dedue-shaped figure making their way over to the second-floor dormitory stairs, complete with an exasperated looking Maia trailing begrudgingly behind them.

Sylvain frowns. Dedue isn’t usually the type to be up this late, from what he knows of the guy.

Christophe seems to share his concern as he raises an eyebrow, turning to Sylvain.

“Should we follow them?”

Sylvain gives him a look.  _ “You’re  _ asking me first?”

Christophe grins. “Fair point.”

* * *

Maia doesn’t even look all that surprised to see them, to her credit.

“Oh thank the gods,” she sighs, letting Dedue continue on further down the hallway. “I’ve been in need of someone who can yell at my brother to go to bed.”

“Is everything okay?” Sylvain signs, because Dedue isn’t very far down the hall and he really doesn’t want to risk the guy hearing him talk to himself.

She frowns. “Sort of? He, uh...couldn’t really sleep tonight, so he went to go see Dimitri-which is fine, they’ve been doing that for each other since they met-but the kid wasn’t in his room, and so with everything that’s happened recently-” she gestures flatly at the hallway around them-”here we are.”

Sylvain nods in understanding and makes his way over to where Dedue had gone-though he slows slightly when he realizes where that is.

“Fucking hell,” Christophe says. “You’re on your own for this one, bud. I am  _ never  _ going in there again.”

“I don’t think Corpse Man is in there at night, though,” Maia says, as they near the doors to the Library. “I mean, no one’s around-he doesn’t exactly need to keep up appearances.”

“Good for him. I’m still never setting foot in there again.”

Ignoring them, Sylvain makes his way forward, purposely stepping on the parts of the floor he knows creak the most in order to alert Dedue of his presence without startling the other man too much. Dedue notices him approaching and gives Sylvain a small smile when he’s finally caught up to him.

“...I wasn’t expecting to see anyone else out this late,” he says.

Sylvain shrugs. “That’s because you actually go to bed at a reasonable time like a responsible person. I’m still waiting on my brain to grasp the concept of “getting a full night of sleep,”personally. It’s certainly taking its sweet time.”

Dedue’s smile turns wry.

“We have that in common, then,” he says, then clears his throat. “Ah-did you happen to run into His Highness on your way here? I was-” 

He trails off as his eyes narrow, spotting something in the distance. Sylvain follows his gaze to see a figure moving around in the dark at the back of the library, clearly looking for something on the shelves.

Sylvain doesn’t have to look to know that Christophe is already halfway down the hallway.

The figure seems to sense the pairs of eyes on them and turns, Dedue tensing at Sylvain’s side as the person makes their way closer, and-

“Oh, Dedue, Sylvain. What are you both doing at this hour?”

Sylvain internally breathes a sigh of relief. It’s just Dimitri, with a stack of what looks like various notes on parchment paper tucked under his arm.

He can feel Dedue physically relax next to him as well. “Your Highness!” he says. “My apologies-I did not mean to interrupt you.”

Understanding seems to cross over Dimitri’s face, and he frowns. “Nonsense, Dedue. I’m sorry for worrying you, what with the current...circumstances we’re under. I was simply doing some research.” He smiles, though it looks slightly strained. “Nothing terribly important. I did manage to dig up some information on the Monastery’s structure, though.”

He takes the stack of papers out from under his arm and spreads a few of them out on one of the tables, gesturing the two over to take a look.

“Based on what I’ve been able to piece together from multiple books, the ground underneath Garreg Mach has actually been hollowed out-like a cavern, of sorts.”

He points to the page of his notes decorated with various sketches of the Monastery, each depicting a large underground space from different angles.

“Based on what Dedue had said about hidden passages, it would be safe to assume that most of them would lead to  _ here  _ rather than outside-and given that none of the Knights reported seeing Flayn leave, I have a pretty fair idea of where she might be.”

He looks up, then, his expression serious.

“Flayn wasn’t taken away from the Monastery," he says. "She’s being held  _ below  _ it.”

* * *

In the end, they had elected to have some of the class stay behind-eight people running around at night wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of stealth, to be fair.

No one had wanted to sit out, though, so they’d drawn sticks-Ingrid, Ashe, and Dedue had lost, though Christophe had still insisted on coming regardless. Glenn had decided to stay back, not wanting to make the group too full even if Sylvain was the only one who could see him.

They’re all sitting in their classroom again, the complete silence of the night around them making the atmosphere even tenser than it had been before. 

Felix huffs, clearly getting impatient. “The hell are we still sitting here for? We need to  _ go,  _ boar.”

Dimitri shakes his head, though he still looks just as anxious. “No, we need to wait for Annette. She was going to look over the area farthest from here, so it makes sense that she’s-”

At that, the door slams open, revealing an Annette who looked like she’d just sprinted all the way over here, her eyes wide with fear.

“I just,” she pants, “I just heard a scream. From Professor Jeritza’s quarters. It-it sounded like Professor Manuela. ”

Sylvain feels the blood drain from his face.

_ This is such a bad idea. _

_ “Shit,” _ he curses instead, and practically runs out of the classroom, the others tearing behind him.

* * *

  
  


Jeritza’s room, thankfully, is not too far from their classroom, and Dimitri practically tears the gate leading to it off its hinges as he wrenches it open.

It’s slightly terrifying. Only slightly.

Sylvain sprints into the room-and immediately stops in his tracks.

The others nearly slam into his back at the sudden halt of movement, and he can hear Felix grumble a little before there’s a sharp intake of breath, which means that he’s seen it, except he hasn’t  _ really  _ seen it, because-

“...Sylvain? What’s going on?”

He’s too late.

They were too late.

Professor Manuela’s ghost is hovering tentatively over her slumped body, the circle of blooming red in her stomach growing larger as she takes in their expressions, and how none of them are looking  _ at  _ her.

She hasn’t looked down yet.

Christophe moves instinctively as Mercedes rushes to the floor to check for a pulse, and Manuela’s eyes bug out of her head.

“C-Christophe?” she stammers. “Aren’t you-but you’re-”

She looks down, and her hands fly to her mouth. The wound in her stomach grows larger.

“Oh Goddess,” she says, “Oh,  _ Goddess,  _ that’s  _ me,  _ I’m-am I-”

The atmosphere around them begins to swirl, and Christophe rushes to Manuela’s side.

“Woah, hey, Professor Manuela, it’s alright!” he says, attempting a smile, “You need to focus on keeping yourself grounded, okay? Trust me, it’ll be a lot worse if you don’t.”

He attempts to put a placating hand on her shoulder, but his arm passes right through.

Sylvain’s eyes widen.

_ Wait. _

“She still has a pulse, but it’s faint!” Mercedes says hurriedly from her position on the ground. She’s cradling her head in her lap.

Sylvain and Christophe lock eyes for a moment before Christophe’s eyes flash with recognition and he nods, turning back to Manuela’s ghost.

“You’re still alive, Professor. You’re just having a near-death experience,” he says gently. “Everything’s going to be fine. You won’t even remember any of this when you wake up. Promise.”

A near-death experience. Thank the Goddess. Sylvain just needs to make sure it doesn’t go anywhere past the  _ near  _ part.

There’s a sound of someone walking in behind them, making them all jump, and they turn around to see  _ Claude  _ of all people stroll in, the ghost usually accompanying Hilda following behind him.

“Now what are you all doing in  _ here,”  _ he says, “I thought I heard-” he sees Manuela’s body, and his eyes go wide, “-Oh, shit.”

Manuela’s ghost looks like she’s about to keel over at this point, her gaze locked on the ghost that had come in.

_ “Holst?”  _ she says, her tone incredulous.

Holst shakes off his initial shock at seeing her and offers her a weak smile, his large hand coming up in an awkward wave. 

“Hey, Manuela. Uh...long time no see, huh?”

Manuela just gawks at him. “You’re  _ dead?” _

“We need to get her out of here,” Felix snaps, thankfully cutting off wherever  _ that  _ had been going. He turns to Claude. “Carry her up to the infirmary with Mercedes. She can heal her on the way.”

Claude nods quickly, moving to help Mercedes carry the-carry  _ Manuela  _ out of the room as Holst follows along behind them, most likely for moral support. Manuela’s ghost yelps as she’s forcibly dragged alongside her body like a kite on a string, but it only reassures Sylvain that she isn’t gone yet. 

She’s still there. They still have time.

Sylvain turns his attention back to the room behind them, and his gaze focuses on a small slab of darkness peeking out from behind the bookshelf, something that had gone largely unnoticed in the midst of...everything.

“Hey,” he says, his eyes narrowing, “What’s that over there?”

Dimitri tries to follow where he’s looking. He squints. “Where are you-” his eyes lock on the bookshelf, and he gasps-”Oh! I see it, behind the shelf! Could it be a secret passage?”

He runs to push the shelf aside and it moves easily, revealing a dark entrance lined with stone behind it.

Sylvain feels his chest tighten instinctively. It looks small.  _ Fuck. _

He hears Annette gulp beside him.

“It-it looks pretty dark in there, doesn’t it?” she says, and chuckles humorlessly. “I, ah...I was never a very big fan of complete darkness when I was a kid. I don’t think I ever really got over that.”

Sylvain can sympathize with her, albeit for an entirely different reason.

Felix huffs. “I can hear something down there. If we’re going to go in, we need to do it  _ now.” _

Annette nods shakily. “No, I’ll-I’ll be fine. This is for Flayn, after all!” 

She shakes her head to steel herself and heads toward the entrance, checking quickly to see if they’ll follow her.

They do.

Sylvain’s feet grow heavy as he walks, though. He’s the last to enter, and Felix frowns at him as he does, but doesn’t say anything.

It’s just a tunnel. It’s just a measly,  _ fucking  _ tunnel. He can do this. He  _ should be able  _ to do this.

He stumbles on a rock as he walks down, and his arm slams into one wall of the tunnel, reminding him just how close they are to each other. If he puts his hands out, he can touch both sides while still keeping his elbows bent.

Christophe moves behind him, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. It takes every ounce of willpower he has to not flinch when the ghost places a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, dude, you okay?”

Sylvain nods, because it isn’t like he can answer with anything else even if he wants to.

And he doesn’t.

He really, really doesn’t.

The tunnel only seems to get smaller and smaller the longer they walk through it, and Sylvain knows his perception of time is a bit skewed at the moment, but he also knows that there is  _ no reason  _ for this Goddess-damned tunnel to be  _ this ridiculously long. _

He can feel his breath beginning to quicken, as much as he really wishes it wouldn’t, and he swears he can feel the walls inching closer to his arms, the cold stone wrapping around him in a tight blanket, and it’s so  _ dark,  _ and he can’t even really tell what direction he’s walking anymore, and Felix must be able to hear how his breathing isn’t normal at this point because they’re all so  _ close  _ to each other, and-

They burst out into a large cavern and he immediately gulps for air he knows he already had, nearly crying out in relief. He wills his breathing to slow, because he knows that they still have to be somewhat quiet and he can tell from the feeling of Felix’s eyes on him that he’s being too _ loud. _

There’s a sharp inhale from Annette, and suddenly she’s dashing over to two bodies lying on the floor a few feet away from where they’d exited the tunnel.

Sylvain recognizes one to be Flayn, thankfully ghost-free, and the other one-

He stiffens.

Christophe was right.

A walking corpse really  _ was  _ the best way to describe it.

The girl lying next to Flayn is paler than anyone he’s ever seen before, her translucent skin an almost sickly gray against the bones nearly threatening to pop out of it. Her red hair is stringy and matted, her eyes are completely sunken in, and all of her fingernails are missing, with most having looked like they’d been scraped off.

Annette and Felix have already begun hoisting up Flayn, and they look at Sylvain expectantly.

“Come on, Sylvain!” Annette hisses, “Grab the other girl! We need to get them out of here before Professor Jeritza comes back!”

Sylvain, decidedly, does  _ not  _ want to grab the other girl, but Dimitri’s already hoisting the arm sporting a dislocated shoulder over his head, and he doesn’t think he can get away with refusing to help what appears to be an unconscious schoolgirl without looking like a complete asshole, so he begrudgingly moves to hold the other one.

At least it’s less broken. He’s trying not to think about the dented skull currently lolling onto his head.

They only make it a few feet before there’s a hand on his wrist and he’s being yanked to the side behind a stone pillar because,  _ shit,  _ they’re not alone.

“What are you  _ doing,”  _ a voice snaps, and there’s something odd about it he can't quite place. Off.

“I was just trying to have some  _ fun,”  _ another voice says, and Sylvain recognizes this one to be the Death Knight himself.

“Don’t you think you’re having just a bit too much? You only needed to incapacitate the woman, not  _ stab  _ her. ”

“You are getting in the way of my game.”

“Your  _ game  _ has a very specific set of players that I know you are fully aware of. You’ll have more opportunities to play soon. An  _ opera singer  _ should not be one of them.”

“...I see. You should take a check of where your priorities lie.”

“You know perfectly well where my priorities lie. Do not put words in my mouth. Your work here is done.”

“Very well... _ Flame Emperor.  _ I will go.”

There’s a flash and the first voice-the Flame Emperor, apparently-huffs in annoyance, their boots clacking loudly on the ground as they begin to move towards where their group is currently huddled.

Somehow,  _ miraculously,  _ they stalk right past them, unaware, vanishing down another corridor, but it’s enough for Sylvain to get a glimpse of both them and their ghosts, and his breath suddenly catches in his throat, because-

_ No way. _

No  _ fucking way. _

He’d recognize those ghosts anywhere. He  _ knows those ghosts. _

Sylvain is currently carrying a corpse, he has to walk back up the Tunnel From Hell with said corpse, and  _ Edelgard is the Flame Emperor,  _ because of  _ course  _ she is.

Fucking hell.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of things in this chapter! i've been excited to write the rescue scene for awhile. poor sylvain really can't catch a break lol
> 
> did any of you realize he would be able to identify the flame emperor? i didn't at first until i was watching through some scenes for planning purposes and was like oh. oh sylvain
> 
> updates are probably going to all end up being in the two week range now because of school!! i unfortunately cannot devote all my time to writing about sylvain fire emblem anymore despite how much i may want to
> 
> thank you all for reading! :D
> 
> next time: a cry for help.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've made you all wait enough, so i won't keep you too long, but this fic has been added to some collections while i've been gone!! (one of them even has one of my favorite fics in it which uh. is such a huge compliment???) thank you so much!!
> 
> anyway, this chapter is a lot (and i had absolutely no idea how to go about writing most of it, which is partly why it has taken so long) so i will let you all go on ahead
> 
> :)

“...Fuck,” Sylvain says, again, because  _ what else is he supposed to say. _

The rest of the night had gone by in a blur, and he’d barely registered sitting in the infirmary with the others before stumbling back to his room in a daze, the promise to study more sign with Annette at a time he’d immediately forgotten fresh off his lips.

Christophe hadn’t hesitated to go grab Maia and Glenn as soon as he’d flopped down onto his bed, which is how the four of them found themselves perched in various places around his room, the question of  _ what the hell are they supposed to do about this  _ settling heavy around them like a tomb.

There’s a soft knock at the door that Sylvain doesn’t even hear until he notices Christophe move to see who it is, but he immediately feels a sense of unease when the ghost pokes his head through the door and instantly jerks it back out, his face somehow turning paler than it already is.

“Uh,” he says intelligently, “One of the–one of the ghosts is here.”

Sylvain isn’t really sure what he means by this, because he really needs to be more specific than  _ one of the ghosts,  _ but then Christophe moves to usher whoever it is inside, and he gets it, because–because it is one of the ghosts.

It’s one of Edelgard’s ghosts.

It’s almost hard to see the resemblance; her two disheveled brown plaits and tattered clothes are a stark contrast to Edelgard’s pristine white hair and freshly pressed uniform–but the sharp look in her eyes is shockingly familiar.

She inclines her head in a small greeting and raises her hands.

“Hello,” she signs, “My name is Alke. I need your help.”

He doesn’t need to be able to hear her voice to feel the desperation at which she says that–the force at which she brings her fist up on  _ help  _ is already enough of an indicator.

“I apologize for barging in on you like this,” she continues, not waiting for him to respond, “but you have seen it now. You understand. You–you  _ need  _ to help her.”

Sylvain doesn’t have to ask to know who or what she’s referring to.

“I am not sure if you are aware of our family’s...situation,” she signs, bringing her fist around her pointed index finger hesitantly, “but those people she is allying herself with, they are–they are not good people. They have done horrible things. I am the only one of us who is able to speak with you like this, and even then I find it hard to get away, because most of us are...are nothing like we used to be.”

Her eyes fixate on a spot on the floor, her hands shaking slightly.

“The little ones–the little ones cannot recognize her, when she gets like that. The oldest tries his hardest, for us, but even he forgets, too. It is getting harder and harder to calm them, and we are worried that our presence will soon become dangerous, if she continues.”

Alke looks like she can’t be any older than thirteen. Sylvain doesn’t want to know what she means by  _ little ones.  _

“...They are just using her. She is their tool, and they are  _ using her,”  _ Alke signs. She gives a small smile, but it looks hollow. “I guess I am lucky. I got to leave fairly early. They didn’t see much use in a tool who couldn’t hear or speak their words, after all.”

It’s then that Sylvain notices the red marks littering her neck, and a horrible pit settles into his stomach. He feels slightly ill.

Alke’s eyes find his, and he can see the intensity in them. She’s begging. Pleading.

“I do not know how you can convince her to stop, but you have to try,” she says. “They are planning something. They are planning something  _ big,  _ and it is happening soon, and I–none of us know how to stop it.”

“Would our,” Sylvain starts to say out loud before stopping himself and switching to his hands, “Would our rescue have helped delay them? We got Flayn back.”

Alke shakes her head sadly, her expression grave.

“That...that was not a rescue,” she signs, and her eyes are sad, “You did exactly what they wanted you to.”

Sylvain’s blood goes cold.

“W–what?” he chokes, momentarily forgetting to use his hands.

“Oh  _ shit,”  _ Christophe breathes, “They just wanted us to get that girl.”

Alke stares at him intently as he speaks before nodding and turning back to Sylvain. “Flayn was the excuse. They needed a way to get one of their own into the Monastery, so they left them where they knew you would find them. They did take something from Flayn, but it was nothing like what they–nothing like what they took from us.”

Her hands drop to her sides, and the room is silent for a moment.

“What can I...what can I do?” Sylvain asks, both out loud and in sign, his voice hoarse.

She shakes her head. “I do not know. You need to talk to her when she is alone. Hubert is not easy to sway, and they are...they are everywhere. I wish I could be of more help, but I cannot hear what is being said, and the others are only able to pick up so much. I cannot leave them for very long, but if I learn of anything else, I will come to you.”

Sylvain nods. “Thank you,” he signs, and he really,  _ really  _ means it.

Alke gives him a small smile. “It is nothing. We just want to see our sister again.” 

She tenses, then, and looks back at the door.

“I have to go,” she signs, “I can–something is not right.” 

She moves towards the front of his room hurriedly and pauses, glancing back at Sylvain one last time. Her eyes are blazing.

“Be careful,” she adds. “I do not wish to see you fall.”   
  


* * *

Professor Byleth opens and closes her mouth for the fifth time as she fiddles with the chalk in her hands, seemingly not knowing where to begin with their class.

“I am going to be blunt for a moment,” she says eventually, as if that isn’t a normal occurrence, “I have absolutely no idea what I am supposed to say to all of you.”

Ashe suppresses a grin. Annette had dramatically relayed all of the night’s events to him over breakfast, and he’s still slightly jealous he hadn’t gotten to go along.

Only slightly. That tunnel was almost definitely haunted.

The Professor sighs, running her hands down her face. “My father laughed at me when I tried to explain my dilemma to him this morning. Apparently this is what it felt like to raise  _ me.  _ I almost think I owe him an apology.”

Dimitri makes what sounds like a small huff of laughter before hurriedly turning it into a cough. Ashe can practically feel Felix’s eyes roll from his seat.

“One one hand,” Professor Byleth continues, ignoring them, “I do have to thank you for solving the mystery of Flayn’s whereabouts before any of the Knights did and bringing her back to us. I would guess that Seteth shares a similar sentiment.”

She turns her attention to Sylvain, then, and the look on her face is so unimpressed that Ashe almost snorts.

“But on the other,” she says, “Why on  _ whatever the Goddess’ name is  _ did you decide to not come tell any of us first. Or myself. Or _ anyone.  _ You could have gone up to Seteth and told him that a group of magical flying broomsticks whisked Flayn away to  _ Zanado  _ and he would have immediately mobilized a group to go check for her, no questions asked. You all could have gotten seriously injured, especially since none of you decided to take along any  _ weapons, _ and you are lucky her kidnappers did not have anyone stationed down there for an attack.”

She raises an eyebrow, her gaze piercing. She’s still looking at Sylvain. 

“You are all my students. I  _ trust  _ you. If something like this happens again and you feel like you’ve figured out enough to act,  _ tell me.”  _ Her eyes snap back to the rest of the class. “Understand?”

A chorus of  _ Yes, Professor  _ echoes around the room.

Professor Byleth sighs again. “Good.” She eyes the stack of papers on her desk, and frowns. “Apparently I am now in charge of teaching the heavy armor classes,” she says. “...Would any of you happen to know how those work.”

* * *

  
  


Caspar and Linhardt are waiting for Ashe outside the classroom, as usual. Caspar grins when he spots him, and Linhardt offers a wave. He looks like he’d just woken up about five minutes ago–which, knowing the other boy, he probably did.

“So?” Caspar says, playfully elbowing him in the side, “How was that? The Professor didn’t flame you guys too hard, did she?”

Ashe shakes his head, grinning back at his friend. “No, she just told us to tell her first if we want to do something like that again. I don’t blame her, to be honest.”

Caspar nods sagely, stretching his arms behind his head. “I know you didn’t  _ actually  _ go, but it’s still so cool that you guys found Flayn so soon. If I were you, I’d hold that over Seteth’s head for, like,  _ ever.” _

“I’m more curious about why Flayn was taken in the first place,” Linhardt says. “I heard Seteth mention something about her blood earlier, but I’m not entirely sure what he was referring to.”

Ashe knows by now that “heard” really means  _ I deliberately went out of my way to go eavesdrop or pry into this information,  _ but he’s learned not to really question these things when it comes to Linhardt.

Caspar, who’s had over ten years of practice, only nods again. “Yeah, that is weird. I’m not too good with all that crest...stuff, but I don’t remember blood properties ever having to do with anything.”

Linhardt frowns. “They don’t–or, well, they shouldn’t. To my knowledge at least. Flayn and I have the same crest, so if I do secretly have some sort of special magic blood, I’d certainly like to know about it. Although–” his face scrunches up in disgust, “–that’d mean I’d have to actually look into it, then, wouldn’t it. Eugh.”

He shakes his head, ridding himself of the thought. “Anyway. I managed to get a good amount of research done last night.” He gives Ashe a sidewards glance. “Though I am slightly jealous that your class keeps getting to experience parts of it firsthand.”

Something cold curls in Ashe’s stomach as Caspar jabs into their friend’s side with a hiss of  _ “Linhardt!”,  _ his eyes wide. Linhardt only blinks at him for a moment before realization crosses his face and he quickly turns to Ashe with a sharp inhale.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh. That was–that was insensitive of me, Ashe. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s–it’s fine, really,” Ashe says, a hand coming up to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck, “I know what you meant.”

They settle into an uncomfortable silence, the now-empty courtyard only adding to the abrupt drop in conversation.

A strange feeling of  _ something  _ settles around Ashe, curling around his torso and up his arms, and he shivers instinctively before a small part of his brain rises up to tell him that he’s  _ felt this before. _

Normally, he shoves that little voice down, eager to separate himself from any thoughts of breezes in windowless hallways or chills in direct sunlight, but there’s something about the silent pressure of the courtyard and Linhardt’s comment and the winding presence around his body that feels like fingers on the back of his neck that takes a hold of his mind and  _ pushes  _ him back to That day.

_ “Regardless of whether it is done in my life,” _ Lonato had said,  _ “...or my death.” _

It had been there then, too. Through his fingers and heavy on his shoulders and clinging to him like a blanket as he’d sobbed into the pillow in his room later that night.

Lonato hadn’t been looking at him.

When had it started? It’d gotten so frequent that Ashe had forgotten that there had been a period of time when it hadn’t been there at all. When it–

_ “Or my death.” _

Lonato wasn’t...Lonato wasn’t looking at  _ him. _

As if sensing his thoughts, the pressure around him whirls and tightens, looping around his hands, and Ashe thinks of the whistling breezes that almost sound like laughter in his ears, of the ripples in the air whenever he’s with his siblings, of the skating winds along his fingers in his times of stress, and the idea crashes into him with enough force to make him stumble backward, because  _ what if he’d gotten it wrong? _

He stands there, reeling, and Caspar seems to notice the look on his face as he shoots Linhardt a small frown before cocking his head with a worried expression.

“Ashe?” he asks, tentatively, “You okay?”

“I–yeah, I’m–I’m fine,” he stammers, furtively glancing around for a place to flee to, “I, ah, I just remembered something. I’ll–I’ll see you guys later.”

He leaves the courtyard as quickly as his legs will allow him, not missing Linhard’s sigh of  _ Yeah, I deserved that  _ as Caspar smacks him on the arm again. He’ll talk to them later–preferably when he’s not busy rethinking every moment of his life in the last four years.

_ Four years,  _ his brain supplies,  _ it’s been four years. _

He makes a beeline for his room, moving a little faster than he probably should be, and that’s why he doesn’t have enough time to stop himself before he turns a corner and slams directly into someone.

“Woah, hey–Ashe? You alright?” The person says, and Ashe’s brain momentarily slows down long enough to inform him that this is Sylvain, who is currently staring at him with an increasingly worried expression. 

Sylvain’s eyes flicker off of Ashe for a moment and widen slightly. He blinks for a moment, clearly trying to formulate what to say, and offers Ashe a slightly strained smile.

“You, uh–you look like you’ve got a lot on your mind, buddy,” he says, still with that odd look on his face, “Everything okay?”

Ashe nods jerkily. “Yes, I’m–I’m alright! I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he says. 

His voice sounds too high in his ears.

Sylvain raises an eyebrow, looking entirely unconvinced. Ashe sighs internally.

“Okay,” he concedes, “it’s...it’s just–when you think you’re sure of something, like  _ really  _ sure of something, what do you do when you...when you suddenly aren’t?”

Sylvain regards him for a moment, something briefly flashing in his eyes before vanishing as he brings a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Look, you’re...you’re one of the most stubborn people I know, Ashe, and that’s saying a lot.” He shrugs. “Sometimes you just have to, you know, trust your instincts a little. They can’t hurt you. Promise.”

There’s a pause as he seemingly rethinks that statement, and winces sheepishly. “Okay, well. Sometimes they can. But that’s not really important right now.” Sylvain levels him a look, shifting his weight as he tilts his head slightly. “The fact that you’re this worried about it means that you probably already know the answer, yeah?”

Ashe frowns. “The answer is...the answer is insane,” he says quietly.

Sylvain shrugs. “Sometimes it can be. Doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

He claps Ashe on the shoulder, a look of  _ understanding? sympathy?  _ plain on his face.

“You’re a good guy, Ashe,” he says, and begins to move past him. “You can probably trust yourself on this one.”

Ashe still isn't sure if he wants Sylvain to be right.

* * *

  
  


“Do you guys believe in ghosts?” Ashe asks at breakfast the next morning, picking idly at his eggs.

Caspar, who looks both confused at the question and relieved that Ashe still wants to talk to him and Linhardt, frowns, his hand pausing from where it had been about to shovel another helping of ham into his mouth. He sets his fork down.

“Oh, man, I dunno...I’ve never really thought about it, I guess?” He moves for his food again and points a finger at Ashe. “But if any place was gonna be haunted, it’d  _ definitely  _ be here. Your class found a  _ hidden tunnel in a wall.  _ That's, like,  _ textbook  _ ghost home.”

Linhardt blearily smacks Caspar on the arm as a way to tell him to eat slower before blinking up at Ashe from where his head is resting on his arms.

“Ghosts are hard,” he mumbles, “People have so many ideas of what they could be like that it’s exhausting just  _ thinking  _ about attempting to research them.” He squints. “But why do you ask?”

Ashe looks down at his plate, his face reddening slightly. “Oh, ah, it’s...it’s sort of hard to explain.”

Linhardt blinks. “I’ve been friends with Caspar for over ten years. Try me.”

Ashe has to duck his head to hide his smile. “No, it’s-” he shakes his head, “-really, it’s...strange.”

They both give him a look. Ashe sighs.

“...Okay,” he concedes. “Okay. Um. For years, I’ve gotten this...feeling, I guess, that something–or  _ someone _ –is...around. I’ve always thought it was something malicious, whatever it is, so it’s always creeped me out, but now...now I’m not so sure.”

Caspar’s eyes widen slightly, and he immediately turns his head to see Linhardt’s response. Their friend only hums noncommittally, shifting his attention away from them.

“Sometimes it can be rather beneficial to look at things from a different perspective,” he says simply. “People questioning ideas thought to be set in stone is the only reason humanity has even been able to get anywhere, after all.” He shrugs. “Theories can change. It seems exhausting trying to uphold a rapidly crumbling one, in all honesty.” 

Linhardt yawns, settling his head back into its original place in his arms. “I think the whole thing is rather simple,” he says. “You’ve only been looking at things one way this whole time, right? Just...try looking at them from another. See which one holds up more.”

Caspar looks between the two of them. 

“Uh...what he said,” he says sheepishly, and shakes his head. “But seriously, man, if you feel like something else is going on, then you’re probably right.” He shrugs. “If your intuition is trying to talk to you, it can’t hurt to listen! Especially if it’s bein’ that loud about it and all.”

Linhardt soundly asleep again, he resumes scarfing down his food, leaving Ashe with his half-eaten egg.

Trust his instincts, huh?

A small breeze rustles through his hair.

This time, he resists the urge to shiver.   
  
  


* * *

Sylvain can tell that something is wrong.

Their class is only out on what is supposed to be a small mission to deal with some bandits in Magdred, but Professor Byleth looks more frazzled and exhausted than he’s ever seen her, eyes and hands twitching around rapidly as the snapping waves of  _ something  _ he can feel writhing inside her grow more frantic.

She’d looked perfectly fine that morning, walking his classmates through their formations in that usual monotone delivery of hers, but they’d barely made it through the mountains before she’d stumbled backward slightly like something had slammed into her at full force, her eyes turning that same unnaturally bright green color Sylvain’s growing more and more used to seeing.

The green had faded eventually, but the haunted look on her face had not.

“Please be on your guard, everyone,” she says, that familiar higher lilt forcing itself through the strained cracks of her voice. It’s just as unnerving as it’s been every other time he’s heard it, though his classmates, of course, are none the wiser. There’s a few noises of affirmation before they return to their own conversations, Dimitri letting out a stifled laugh at something Dedue says while Ashe hurriedly moves to stop Mercedes from gathering some random plants to use for a new spice she wants to make.

The contrast between the mood of his friends and the mood of their professor is enough to make the already forming pit of unease settle even deeper into his stomach, and he looks around warily for any sign of trouble as they continue on.

Annette elbows him lightly.

“Come on, Sylvain,” she says playfully, “I can practically hear you thinking from here. It’s just some random bandits, remember? We got this!”

Sylvain thinks he sees Professor Byleth tense from where she’s walking in front of them. She looks like she’s about to say more before she staggers slightly, and Sylvain stumbles over a tree root on the ground he hadn’t noticed before.

He thinks Professor Byleth starts instructing their class to do something, but he can’t focus on her right now, because he looks down.

He looks down, and sees that the sudden tree root is not, in fact, a tree root.

It’s a leg.

It’s  _ Annette’s  _ leg.

She’s lying splayed out on the ground, skin pale and spotted with blood, her mage uniform practically torn to shreds. One of her arms is missing, the trail of holes around where her shoulder should be indicating that it had probably been bitten off.

He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Sylvain?”

His head snaps up to meet Annette’s wide (and alive, she’s still alive) eyes, and he’s about to open his mouth to formulate some kind of response before there’s second strained sound from the Professor and he blinks to see another Annette behind them, her mouth stretched into a silent scream around the giant bloody gashes marring her face and chest.

The Annette in front of Sylvain (the alive one, she’s  _ alive)  _ reaches for him in what is probably slight concern but he recoils, eyes unable to leave the sight of the corpse behind her even as it begins to disappear.

“Everyone,” the Professor pants, eyes blazing a terrifyingly bright green as her doubled voice echoes around his ears, “Everyone, we need to–”

An earth-shattering roar sounds throughout the clearing, cutting her off, and Professor Byleth sways on her feet as three more Annettes appear, this time accompanied by one Mercedes, whose still-glowing hands coated with blood are even more telling than the barrage of rocks embedded into her back.

“Take cover!” Dimitri shouts, and they all scramble out of the way as the largest wolf Sylvain has ever seen in his life barrels out of the trees towards them with a snarl. Its head thrashes as it pounds its massive tail on the ground, and Felix has to practically roll on top of Ashe to avoid being crushed by a rock sent flying his way.

Annette is still next to him, and he grips her wrists as tightly as he can as he turns to her, shoving down the sickening sense of dread building in his gut.

“Annette,” he says, trying desperately to keep his voice as steady as possible, “Annette, listen to me. You–you need to stay back, okay? Don’t go anywhere near that thing’s range of attack.”

Ingrid’s lance bounces harmlessly off the monster’s chest and she lets out a screech as she dives out of the way when it swipes a massive paw at her, claws extended and glinting in the sunlight.

Annette scowls. “What?” she hisses. She tries to pull her hands away, but his grip is unrelenting. “Sylvain, I’m–ugh, let  _ go _ –I’m not just going to sit back while you all put yourselves in harm’s way to go fight!”

“Annette,” he says, his voice pleading, desperate, because he can see her body embedded in the tree above them with a sharpened rock, “Annette,  _ please.” _

She leans back, leveling him a look of disbelief. “Do you–do you seriously think I can’t handle myself? Is that what this is?”

She finally manages to wrench her hands away, her face a mix of betrayal and hurt.

“You know, I am–I am so  _ sick and tired  _ of everyone treating me like I can’t  _ do  _ anything!” she spits out, and gestures to where Felix and Ingrid are both attempting to come at the beast from either side. “Sure, we haven’t seen anything like this before, but none of the others need to stay back and let everyone else do the work for them, right?” Annette glowers at him, her eyes burning as brightly as her hair. “I’m helping, Sylvain, whether you think I should or not.”

He frantically calls out to her as she stalks away from him, but she only tightens one of her hair loops that had loosened in the confusion in response, not even sparing him a second glance.

Professor Byleth doubles over mid-charge, heaving, and another Annette appears on the ground in front of him, frozen and unmoving among the smattering of rocks and blood around her.

Sylvain sees the scenario coming before it happens.

The wolf gears up to attack Ashe, snarling and snapping its jaw as it prepares to jump, but a blow Ingrid had delivered to one of its hind legs leaves it staggering, and the collection of rocks it had been attempting to throw are flung wildly off course.

Sylvain doesn’t need to guess their eventual new target.

His legs move before he can stop himself, and he manages to crash into Annette and shove her out of the way just before the first rock slams into his head and his vision goes dark.

* * *

  
  
  


“Sylvain.”

His head  _ hurts. _

“Hey, Sylvain.”

Why does his head hurt?

“Sylvain, I seriously think Annette is about to have an aneurysm if you don’t wake up sometime within the next five minutes–I know you’ve got it in you bud, just–

Something snaps like a switch in his brain.

_ Annette. The mountain. The beast. The rocks. _

His eyes fly open, and he desperately tries to sit up from whatever he’s currently lying on.

Annette. Did he–was he able to–

A searing burst of pain shoots through his head, and he cries out in shock. Two pairs of hands–one eerily cold, one soothingly warm–fly to his shoulders, gently pushing him back down.

He’s on one of the Infirmary beds, he realizes. They’re back at the Monastery. How long had he been out for?

Once the world stops spinning, his eyes begin to focus, and he registers the faces of Mercedes and Maia flanking him on either side–Mercedes’ hand is resting directly over where Maia had put hers, but the ghost hardly seems to mind, her attention clearly more focused on Sylvain as her face floods with concern.

There’s a sob of relief from behind the two, and Sylvain’s eyes shift again as he takes in the other people around them–Professor Byleth, whose tired eyes are filled with more guilt than he thinks he’s ever seen in them, and Annette.

Her hands are shaking from where she has them clutched to her chest, her eyes are red and puffy, and she looks like she hasn’t slept in far longer than she probably has–but she’s alive.

She’s alive, and that’s honestly all he really cares about at the moment.

“Annette,” he signs, because even the voice in his head seems too loud at the moment, “You’re okay.”

Annette’s eyes widen almost comically large, and she shakes her head furiously.

“That’s my line,” she signs back, her insistence coming through in the force at which she moves her hands. “I’m so, so sorry, Sylvain.”

“I’m sorry too,” Professor Byleth says lowly, “I couldn’t stop it.”

“It’s okay,” he croaks, his voice sounding strange in his ears, “I did.”

They’re both giving answers to questions the other hasn’t even figured out how to ask yet, but the understanding is still there.

Annette sniffs, rubbing at her eyes as she turns to face their teacher. “You–you know sign language, Professor?”

Professor Byleth opens her mouth to answer and pauses, her brow furrowing. 

“Oh,” she says eventually, “I guess I...do. I had, um. I had forgotten.”

There’s an awkward moment of silence as they all stare at her before she clears her throat, gesturing to Mercedes.

“Mercedes. You should. You should explain the current situation.”

Mercedes nods, light amusement dusting her features as Maia snorts.

“No one else was injured,” she begins, correctly assuming what was about to be the first question out of his mouth. “Dedue subdued the wolf with a new technique he’d been working on. I was able to stave off most of the injury with my healing–you also managed to miss the main brunt of the attack, thankfully–and now you have nothing more than a mild concussion that should clear up quickly with some additional healing and rest.”

Her eyes flit briefly between Annette and Sylvain, and she seems to be able to tell that her friend is itching to be alone for a moment, as she gives Annette a comforting rub on the shoulder and makes for the door.

“But we were just about to go fill Manuela in on the situation, weren’t we, Professor?” she says, gesturing for Professor Byleth to follow her. “I would like to ask her what herbs she thinks would be best to use.”

Professor Byleth blinks at her, seemingly taking a moment to understand what she’s trying to do, and nods stiffly, following Mercedes out. Maia floats to the back of the Infirmary, stretching herself out on one of the walls.

Sylvain looks back at Annette, who has already been staring at him.

There’s a rather pregnant pause as they both try to figure out what to say to the other before something snaps in the air like a dam breaking and Annette rushes forward to fling her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug.

_ “Goddess  _ Sylvain, don’t you ever do something like that again, okay?” she says, her voice slightly shaky. “I’m so sorry for getting all mad at you, I should have–I should have just listened! You were  _ trying _ to tell me not to–”

“Hey, hey, Annette, it’s fine,” he says, wincing at the small increase in volume of her voice. “We’re both okay, right? No harm done.”

She stills at that. “Sylvain,” she says, voice muffled from where her head is pressed against his shoulder, “You could have  _ died.  _ I could’ve– _ ” _

She pulls back abruptly, her face morphing into a frown. “I...I could have died. You–How did you know I could have died?”

Something cold begins to creep up Sylvain’s neck. “What?”

“You knew,” she says, eyes searching his face for something he’s never intended to give, “I remember how you looked, and you–you  _ knew.” _

Maia’s eyes are on him, now. The cold is circling around his neck. 

“Annette,” he says quickly,  _ too quickly,  _ “I was just–it was a guess, really, based on what I saw. No one knew how to deal with that thing.”

Annette only grips his shoulders tighter, the expression on her face even stronger now.

“Sylvain Jose Gautier,” she says, her voice surprisingly steady despite the increase in its severity, “I know you, and you looked me dead in the eyes back there and _told me I was going to die.”_ Her eyes widen, and she leans back a little. “You...you started moving before the rocks even changed course.”

“It really isn’t like that, I just–”

“You said something to the Professor just now, too…” She’s sitting completely upright now, her arms lowering slowly to her sides. “Sylvain, what’s–what’s going on? What happened back there?”

Something begins to bubble up inside of him like a dam threatening to burst, clawing and clamoring at his throat with increasing intensity. It burns.

“Sylvain?”

He can’t. It’s almost laughable. It’s been–it’s been as long as it has, and he still can’t.

“Annette,” he says, swallowing thickly, forcing the words back down where they belong, “Please.”

Her eyes are still searching, and he hopes he’d managed to shove everything away before she’d managed to get too much of a glimpse of it.

They both know he hadn’t.

“Don’t push it.”

She doesn’t.

* * *

  
  
  


They continue like that, for a week.

Annette knows  _ something _ , Sylvain’s aware of at least that much, but he has no idea how many pieces to the puzzle he’s constructed in his head are ones she’d be able to place herself and how many are his own frantic mind making the conclusions for her.

Not knowing how much she knows is almost as terrifying as the thought of her actually  _ knowing. _

She doesn’t know how to approach the topic with him, though, neither of them do, and their conversations are stilted and awkward as they skate around the one road that seems both impossible and almost necessary to cross.

Sylvain can hardly concentrate in Professor Byleth’s class, each flicker of Annette’s eyes on him feeling like a burn searing into his skin. He laughs everything off when Ingrid questions him after class one day, his grin stretched too wide on his face. He labels the first girl he sees walking near them as the source of his distraction in a successful attempt to get her to drop it, so she only huffs and gives him a look before going off to train with some Golden Deer girls.

The ghosts don’t fully understand his reluctance to tell someone, but he doesn’t expect them to. He gets it, it’s Annette, she isn’t anything like–it’s Annette.

Annette, who he still hasn’t managed to have a proper conversation with since everything happened.

_ Look at you,  _ a voice drawls in his head,  _ still unable to let anything go. Pathetic. _

He shoves it down.

His classmates have begun to notice the odd behavior between the two of them, even  _ Felix  _ manages to bring it up during breakfast one day.

“Is she mad at you for acting like a moron?” he asks.

Sylvain looks up from his plate. “Hm?”

Felix gives him an unimpressed look. “Annette. Is she mad at you for doing that absolutely idiotic thing where you instantly decide to throw yourself in front of someone else no matter the circumstance.”

Sylvain decides not to comment on the bulk of that statement. “Annette isn’t mad at me.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Well she’s definitely  _ something.” _

Sylvain snorts. “Astute. Thank you, Felix.”

Felix scowls. “You know what I meant.” He looks away, stabbing his fork into his food. “Just–talk to her. It doesn’t matter what the problem is. Whatever’s going on is making you all  _ weird.  _ Fix it.”

“Tactful as always, Fe,” Glenn deadpans, and Sylvain suppresses a small grin.

He’ll talk to Annette.

He will.

Maybe if he tells himself the thought of actually doing so no longer twists his gut with a familiar dread enough times, he’ll begin to believe it.

* * *

  
  
  


Annette has never felt so lost in her life.

She isn’t stupid; she knows Sylvain isn’t telling her something, and though her friend seems to give off that impression during most of their interactions she can tell that this is something much,  _ much  _ bigger.

The look in his eyes when she’d asked him about it had told her that much.

So, okay. He doesn’t want to talk about it. That’s fine! Annette can be okay with that.

That hasn’t stopped her from thinking about it, though.

Regardless of what had actually happened, Annette knows that she either should have died, or, Goddess, actually  _ did  _ die that day, and Sylvain had had to bear witness to it.

They’ve all had close calls before, sure, but something about the expressions on Sylvain’s face as he begged her to stay behind told her that she’d probably been a lot more than  _ close. _

The thought makes her feel slightly queasy. The idea of any of them actually dying while out on a mission has always felt like something far off and distant, so Annette has no idea what to do with the information that it very well just happened to her–if her hunches are correct.

She knows she isn’t being very subtle, and she really does try to keep her mind off of That Day, but talking with Sylvain just instantly reminds her of that haunted look in his eyes, of the pleading in his voice as he’d looked at her and told her with  _ complete confidence _ that she was going to die, and she can’t help but be sent reeling by the possibilities of what it all might mean.

Annette knows Sylvain doesn’t want to tell her. She does. But she hates that she doesn’t know. She really,  _ really  _ hates that she doesn’t know.

Mercedes can tell something is distracting her–most of her classmates probably can, if she’s being honest, she’s never been that great at hiding her emotions–and her friend graciously doesn’t question the numerous amount of times Annette has to ask for a refresher on what Professor Byleth went over in class that day.

She keeps up her lessons with Sylvain (possible psychic powers be damned, she is  _ not  _ going to drop an opportunity to have one of her friends learn sign, especially with how quickly he’s been picking it up) but the topic still hangs heavy between them like a burning torch neither can figure out how to pick up.

“Are there any words or phrases in particular you want to learn?” she asks, after an awkward lull in their conversation. 

They’re up on the 3rd floor, where they usually are for their lessons, but the normally easy silence of the area feels more oppressive than usual. Annette’s never had the urge to take out her hearing aids to escape literal silence before, but it’s also never felt so _loud._

Sylvain stares at her for a moment before something in the air snaps and he rakes a hand down his face with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, Annette.”

She blinks at him briefly before giving what she hopes is an easy smile. “It’s okay. Really!”

He shakes his head. “No, no, it’s not. You deserve to know at this point.”

He falls back onto the ground, his hand still over his face. He lets out a dry laugh. “It’s so stupid. I should be  _ able  _ to tell you. But that bastard just keeps–ugh.”

“You really don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Sylvain,” Annette says. “We don’t  _ have  _ to talk about it, you know?”

Sylvain snorts. “Yeah, because that’s been working out so well.”

His hand flops onto the ground, but he doesn’t move. Neither of them say anything.

“This is a really big deal,” he says, “and there’s...I’ve never told anyone before. I’m not even sure if I know  _ how  _ to tell anyone. But you–you should know. I should just get it over with, right?”

He goes quiet again, then picks his head up to look at her.

“You, uh, you can’t freak out, okay?”

Annette nods hurriedly. “I won’t. Promise.”

Sylvain nods back, looking down at the stone floor before turning his attention back to her. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, clearly trying to formulate words that aren’t coming, before sighing and flopping back onto the ground, putting his hands over his face again.

“Goddess, I can’t even fucking  _ look  _ at you,” he mutters, then shakes his head to clear himself. He throws his arms down to his sides.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

There’s a long pause.

“...I can see ghosts,” he says. “You were one of them.”

Annette breaks her promise.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He said it.

_ He said it. _

The words snap out of him like a slingshot, quick and fast and impossible to take back. It almost feels like they’ve taken a part of himself with them, leaving a gaping, jagged hole rapidly filling with a sense of panic and dread because  _ Goddess,  _ he just fucking said it–

“Annette,” Sylvain says, the syllables tripping over themselves in their attempt to spill out of his mouth as quickly as possible, “Annette, please say something.”

She doesn’t. 

The silence is deafening.

_ Another stellar win for Sylvain!  _ his head sneers.  _ Honestly, what did you think was going to happen? Did you really expect her to–” _

Annette exhales.

“So I–I really...I really died then, huh? That day?”

Sylvain shoots up to stare at her.

“You  _ believe  _ me?”

Annette looks like she’s trying to process a million things at once–which, to be fair, she essentially is–but she still frowns indignantly.

“Of course I do! You should have seen your face back then, Sylvain, there’s no way you weren’t being serious.”

Sylvain doesn’t know what to say to that. He’d been fully prepared for her to just–he doesn’t even know what he’d been preparing himself for, but it certainly wasn’t  _ this. _

Annette offers him a shaky smile. “So. Ghosts, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice still disbelieving, “Ghosts.” 

He blinks. 

“Wait, aren’t you, like, terrified of them? Goddess, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

She waves her hands hurriedly. “No! No. Um. I  _ am,  _ but it’s more because of how...unknown they are, I guess?” She shrugs. “But now I have someone who can tell me!”

She leans forward eagerly, eyes sparking with excitement. “So? What are ghosts like?”

Sylvain has no idea what is going on. His eyes flicker over to where Glenn and Maia are watching him, and the two give him both a look of  _ I told you so  _ and a small thumbs up respectively.

“Uh,” he says intelligently, “They’re sort of just like...regular people, in a way? Only dead. And slightly transparent.”

Glenn signs something to him and he snorts.

“Oh, and Felix’s brother thinks you have a nice voice.”

Annette immediately freezes, her hands flying up to cover her rapidly reddening face with a whine. “Oh,  _ Goddess,  _ they’ve been there this whole–ugh, this is so embarrassing!” 

She balls her hands into fists and whips her head around, searching for the ghost. Sylvain suppresses a grin.

“You’re even worse than your brother, uh... _ ghost Fraldarius!”  _ she shouts. She’s not even close to where Glenn is, but Maia’s already doubling over with laughter, so her point was still made.

“Sylvain, please tell her what my name is,” Glenn says, elbowing Maia in the side in an unsuccessful attempt to get her to stop.

“Dedue’s sister is a fan of the nickname,” Sylvain says, ignoring him.

“ _ Sylvain, please tell her what my name is.” _

Maia laughs harder.

Sylvain can’t help the grin that spreads across his face (and though Annette lightly smacks him on the arm for finding entertainment in her pain, she’s grinning too.) The hole in his chest has been filled–though the dread is gone, replaced by something light and eager, bubbling with anticipation. It’s strange, but not unwelcome.

Definitely not unwelcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was so hard to write, especially that last section, so thank you all for bearing with me!! i hope the extra length can somewhat make up for its delay
> 
> i do anticipate future chapters also giving me some trouble, though, as the canon train is making its rapid descent off the rails and i have a lot of scenes coming up that i can already tell are gonna be uh. fun
> 
> anyway hopefully i will see you soon! your comments give me life and i love all of them thank you


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